A net of transformations
Is intricately interwoven;
I want to give myself up to sloth,
But have got tangled
In the net of my bad habits
Which are aliens to me, I now declare!
I want to dive deeper
In the shadows, but neither canopy
Nor crown of a tree around me --
All friends are scattered, leaving me
On my own on the dance floor
In the blazing footlight and floodlight.
I cannot bring together
All my karaoke's lyrics --
There are so many words
And even more meanings
To hide them all
Under the vault of the night club.
But all of a sudden,
The rainbow falls down,
And dawn fills up the heavens
With the light of my carol
In which I glorify the way
Of being on good terms with hangover.
Quite a different subject, but I like the way you approach it. I always wondered why they called them, "clubs." As though somehow, all those lonely strangers would have some kind of kinship in a place with lots of alcohol and noisy music. For all my efforts on the dance floor, I couldn't find affection there. It was those guys who sat back in the corner drinking and didn't dance, that took home the girl.
Verdict: Beware the nightclub and all the waywardness that it brings. I personally can't stand those places, as in the days of my youth. My hangover from those days is well earned.
A detailed study of the origins of the New Alienation. The author labels it normative or postmodern ennui and traces its rise to cultural power over the last two centuries.
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Love ya!
Jane
Sandie
Ron