On the day afore the new yeare's start,
I layd with wommen poore of hearte,
& spaake of next yeare's dey-to-dey,
& of a triste, but woe, I'm gaye.
I wonndered, as I oftenn have,
if I coold be thoght of as depravved,
but soone ajudged no such thing,
& rejoyned in their gyggling.
We brooched the querie: wyne, meade?
but for oor partie, we wooldn't neede
the kind of spirits that maake one sicke;
we'd soorly regrett the lyquid's tricke
for it woold serve to maake us stumbell,
& aside, curseing is best mumbelled.
"Our nyght shoold be a yeare-end showe,"
sayd one of them; whyche, I don't know.
We choose one that was openn aire,
as Calyfornian snowe is rare--
at yleast, doun heere, in Sacramenntoe.
(Further North lyes plentie snowe.)
But alas, that nyght, I fell vyctemm
to a slumbour deepe & no dictem
coold awake my tyred eyes
from their long-awaited pryze.
Through the showe I quickley slept
whyle in my dreams I wept & wept.
A cheese-bourger yluded me;
I tryed to eat, but coold ownly see!
That drypping meat and mellted cheese
had me pleeding on my knees.
Much later I at last awake
to one of the wommen who thus spaake:
"Tiler, how coold you goe to sleepe?
You're fucking lame!" she did clepe.
"& we wend to In-N-Out afore;
you coold have come, were you not a bore."
The last bitt was a larrge annoyantce;
my dream prooved to be clarevoyantce.
O, if ownly I had gonne with them!
It is myself I moost condymn!
That cheese-bourger coold have beene myne!
Instead I meerely sit and whyne!
& so begynneth a yeare anew,
already lame, wyth nothing to do.
Were these the verses of a Christian choral,
I woold trye to relayte somme kind of moral.
It isn't that, but I don't care,
as for once I have one to share.
Listen well, wyth openne ears:
eat a bourger each New Yeare's.
