DTs


My black eye cries blue murder, must have seen red once again.
I can’t get myself together, can’t think much beyond the pain.
Seems like I bought all the rounds, I got no cash left in my jeans.
Told one-‘n’-all how much I loved ’em, even the old closet queen.

The DTs, the DTs. I’m shaking like a leaf.
The DTs, the DTs. Head aches beyond belief.
The DTs, the DTs. Throat drier than desert sand.
Sitting out a self-made Hell alone/shell-shocked in no-man’s-land.

A listless afternoon’s followed my lifeless lie-in bed.
I can’t get myself together, I got no gear in my head.
Like a polar bear caged in a zoo I’m swayin’ on one spot.
I’m too tired to care about the reputation I’ve now got.

CHORUS

My déjà vu’s got déjà vu from the TV that I watch.
I can’t get myself together, I can’t knock it up a notch.
Got my work cut out to draw each breath; I hardly feel alive.
I’m in Dante’s Hell today; in fact I think I’m in (I’ve seen) all nine.

CHORUS

Einstein’s rules don’t apply, time’s almost standing still.
I can’t get myself together, never felt so tired and ill.
And I hear myself promising I’ll (never drink/sign the pledge) again,
but by seven at the latest I’ll be blind drunk just the same.

So bottoms up! Here’s to you!
Your very good health, and mine too.
Here’s mud in your eye. Here’s to absent friends!
Yeah bottoms up! Here’s to you!
Your very good health, and mine too.
So down the hatch, many happy landings!
Yeah bottomshup! Hereshtew!
Sheers m’dear ‘n’ sheers Wild’s crew.
Knock ’em back ‘n’ {mumble mumble}
Shee – HIC – eeers!

©6.6.2011 Andrew Robert Chapman


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