I remember the death of fun,
when going out for five turned overnight into one.
when people's priorities were turned on their head
not going for pints but for meetings instead
and i'm sure that a lot of you have done this as well,
"We've all got to grow up! It's inevitable!"
Which leads me to to believe that I must be a child,
for not choosing a life that's so crushingly mild.
I'm only twenty-five, must I grow up so soon?
Or am I hiding some damage by drinking at noon?
Is that what we're getting at when we say stop the drink?
That we need just a moment, just one, just to think.
for some fun is an excuse for something more sinister
it's the gunk and the pus that fills up the blister
a blister that pops after too much of a good time
or a blister you lance before it gets out of line.
It's something that spreads, it infects and it grows
a problem that's there, right under your nose
until fun is your life, your day and your night
a cause for concern that gives loved ones a fright
but you're fine, you promise, it's just how you get by
something you've said so much that it's no longer a lie.
So, when my friends tell me to embrace the death of fun
I say the parties not over, it's only just begun.
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