August 1st, 1998
Ode to a beer, the first words that appear
from the pen of a cliche ridden sop
Who spends his free time, seeking solace in rhyme
when he knows that he'll find it there not
Yet as a puppet on strings, strong words, stronger drinks
incite Pinichio in his dance
How can he fight, or discern wrong from right
when Gepeto won't give him the chance
Free will is a lie that many souls try
to comfort themselves with in their pain
But a couple of beers will allow one to hear
the laughter that won't go away
Naked monkeys who sit, smearing themselves in their own shit
are a step up from the human race
For we do the same, but give it different names
and still look ourselves in our face