Bottles On Hold

Heroes are dead men;

Yielding was the problem,

Till it slain all of them.

Bottles wouldn’t hold;

Tummy took in toxic,

And the systems (bodily) fell sick.

Still bottles wouldn’t hold;

It was addiction,

With stiff seduction.

Heroes are dead men;

Bottles wouldn’t hold,

Till the dead assemblage grew cold.

Put the beguiling bottles on hold;

It’s only but a lie,

That with it sorrows will die.

One sip, one bottle, more bottles;

Like blinks you are gone,

And what have you done?

A weary widow is born,

Sprogs are fatherless,

Only that you were clueless.

Still won’t bottles hold?

Heroes are dead men,

Dreadfully decaying in devil’s den.

Put the bottles on hold,

And end champagnes’ pain;

Dazed minds for it wane insane.

It does take a lot of bottle

To overcome the brutal Brandy,

But puny people pass on skirmishing not, sadly.

Put the buck naked bottles on hold,

I beg of you;

“...greatness in every bottle” is a lie too.

Don’t get wasted;

Else misery is aggravated;

Put the bottles on hold; make sobriety bold