NA (15 December 1973 / London, England)

To Dine

The night we dine is a fine old time,
Worst health happens to those who abstain from fun.
The nights are cold to the touch,
Dinner awaits.
We have health as we speak, and eat,
The worry of limping and being lame has gone.
The dinner we eat cancels our sleep,
And my legs are enough to satisfy my health.
She points to my head, and my heart jumps,
Insults are rapid and food has been dumped.
On me, on me, and on me,
Me and my legs,
The drink is on my face.
The night we dine, we fight for good health
And never speak again.

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