Irish house party

After the pub, back to the gaff,

Bag full of cans, time for a laugh.

Different tunes, no time to think,

Queue for the jacks so puke in the sink.

Roll up a joint and pass to your mate,

Look for a snog, let’s tempt fate.

Check upstairs then check downstairs,

No women here, its time to despair.

Another fucking sausage factory,

Just one more Irish house party.

Dreams are better than reality

Dreams are better than reality,
Serotonin is such a precious commodity.
A Utopian state is an unknown rarity,
Whereas a dream is an oasis of creativity

In our beds, as we enter REM sleep,
Our brain cut loose, cast into the deep.
The lottery, sex, fame and sporting endeavours,
I wonder will we dream when we become cadavers.