The time is 3:18 in the morning,
Greg’s fish just died, he’s a mournin’,
Attention all troops, we need to defend the liver, defend the liver, we’re under attack,
the vodka has taken hold, blood, intestines, all the major systems are shocked, taken aback!
Greg’s fish had a good life, swimming around in pristine water,
shitting, pissing, living and loving, in a clear fluid that gives life to all!
Having to flush his beloved fish down the toilet made Greg a damn sad man,
But immediately he began to think “what sea creature can I buy next?” Maybe a crab!
Greg’s fish drank water as he swam, and Greg liked to drink himself, vodka mainly, occassionally a cheap red wine,
Greg had a job writing for a magazine, he never failed to meet a deadline.
But the death of his fish made him an emotional wreck,
he couldn’t write shit, not for a good week or seven.
This poem is a lost cause, fuck it!