Some bar, same state, another insobriety,
Plagued in piety of the fermentated drink inside of me,
Sans Seder, sans kosher kitchen,
Unclear of the mission or my position, my placement,
Sure the world won’t end for my religious abatement.
Or will it? Clearly caught in fission’s divisions,
A fractured prism scattering light,
Counting days to start in the night,
Six-hundred-and-thirteen strokes impossible,
Unable to truly be devout, but what’s the difference when the lofty aspirations turn to communal clout?
Cut off, odd man out in all environs,
Barely standing wholly on bending, broken pylons.