I raise a glass to the infernal Murphy, his laws, and all of his Earthly minions.
The warm schadenfreude you feel from seeing me pounded,
Battered, bruised, and a left alone to feel confounded,
Is infinitesimal compared to the sheer amount of amazing bliss
That occurs when I feel my blood race to a rhythmic sound.
Reminding me I’m alive, and whose whose ass you can kiss.
That was a pretty bad rhyme, but I’m done for the night.