Second-rate salesmen skillfully sell soft served ice-cream on the sidelines
However, they hand out hollow holocausts of false fantasies for Satan
When intoxication ignites the idle minds
Problematic pride punctures a picture-perfect life,
Profiting no one but Satan’s salesmen.
Burning bridges and building burdens of broken promises or bonds
The drunkards drench their drifting dreams
with tireless tears that they callously cry.
Moving memories of willful wrong doings and left-handed handshakes
turn the meandering mid-summer day’s dream
into an overcast obsolete obituary.
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