Alchemisland

My instincts like Nicola Six

A well-aimed sick into the sink

My swan neck in a mink

My soul the Styx, in a minute 

When it comes times to go, I’m sinking

Going under, beyond the brink

I don’t mean those vans bringing cash bags back from the bank

One who likes spanking in Tallaght

Drive out in the last untamed impala

I wonder will she know I’m taking loads of tablets

Which place? You’ll know

No doubt now I see it; looks like a palace; medieval

Between mean streets and Lidl, wilds and civil; the divil at liberty

I’m giving it to her in her sitting room

Zoot burning in the ashtray, I’m still wearing boots; presently knocking

Door opens, guess we didn’t lock it

Her young lad got a shock, sorry Ollie.