Striding through the murk of sluts,
I find myself writhing in despair.
Free entry and bad company,
The story of my fucking life.

I'm feeling welcomed,
Maybe I'll get offered a pint.
One stares with aloof eyes,
Lures me into an abyss well known.

Enter the realm of entertainment,
She decays before my eyes.
Offers me a night at her haven of filth,
With IQ, I resist.

You're filled with vitality,
And you smell like death.
Brag about your dead end job again to me,
It might just get me off.

With joy I leave,
Descending into the rump.
Wretched garden of stagnation,
Mere marginal improvements.
Transcend and regress.

I'm so sick of dead end people,
In this fucking dead end town.
If Bangor were to drown tomorrow,
I wouldn't shed a tear.
I fucking hate all of you.

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