Drunkard

There goes the wind with a smell,
Which could kill as you dwell,
Don’t try as things could worse,
making yourself a slave under the roof.
Then you sing am a drunkard,
booking a place to test the peace.

There goes the day, as you lay,
sure to know, you will pay.
There is still time to give away,
Then you sing am not a drunkard,
booking a place to rest the peace.

By Jesus premraj