A Poem About Liking Wine (even though I hate it.)

Run from the hurt
as it's all the same,
they pass it in a basket, it's all just a game
- money into the bowl and we're cold
so we open the wine...

Now we studied their pictures
and read all their lines
but none of it made sense,
at least at the time
'til we closed our eyes or the wine was done.

Another bottle goes by
and we'll sink and we'll fly like the angels
through clouds of our thoughts
but it all made a rhyme,
at least at the time,
'til we thought too much, we had fun.

So here's to the death of our smile,
it was worth it for that short while
and the illness kicked in just to fill us
with doubt,
and I'm not quite what I'm talking about
so I'm drink and I'll slur
and watch the world blur
at least for a while.
Those were the times,
when I'd finished the wine
we had some fun,
but they're not passing the basket,
they're passing your casket
around.