We'Re Not Abject Snails In The Slow Lane

Everything, that's done or not done— Has a knock-on-effect… It's like stepping-on snails, during the night. 'Oh, so I'm a little abject - melancholic. People like me want to win the Euro Lottery, For sure get pissed and frolic— Be called an alcoholic'. There's no effort in it. You've just got to be knee-deep-in-it. So, we've got more of a right to be stepped—on! Than say a snail making its lonesome trail… Those in power might say. We deserve it. But, God - willing I, we'll make A farthing, a bob, a shilling or two! Current to today's living - keep hold of those shells. You know the ones above your mortgaged heads Paid, kept in intact: Before they take their Vat. Before, words of another melancholic soul Bleeds dry your hearts sapped will… whole. And even more besides, still… Cause life and living isn't on trial-out for hell.