Thursday at the stroke of midnight
They come rushing from the pits of hell
To prepare us for the festival ahead
Innocently we awake to toil
As soon as the clock strikes three
They mingle among us unseen but felt
Temperatures are rising
The patience slowly wearing off...
The sun departs, the moon lights our hearts
Looking delicious
Scents so delightful
A toast to celebrate
Endless gulps to forget
Either way we're getting wasted
A puff of this
A sniff of that
There's cash to burn
Lies to utter
People to impress
Assets to move around
Dance yourself into a trance
Innocent souls generously misled
The rest of us fuel the Friday flames
Bohemian we are
Drunks, Brutes, Lost and Confused, Fornicators, Adulterers...
Oh did I forget the Innocent
This is our paradise
A toast to betraying those we love the most!
And another to hosting the Friday demons
