Where would I be tonight

if not by your side?

Easy to believe that I might be drinking,

toasting the year, burning Time,

setting my life ablaze

in the White Horse,

New York, whisky threatened

records and nervous poetic disposition,

the grand finale to match the Welsh bard,

drunk on my arse and grovelling in dirty rhyme

as those around me

misunderstood English

cool, the trilby

carefree on someone else’s head.

 

Where would I be if not

holding your hand tonight?