He was drowning in a bottle of gin,
His head was occasionally bobbing up and down.
He said a few more mouthfuls wouldn't do him harm,
He said he'd sailed across the bottomless sea before,
That he would never go overboard even if he tried.

He's now trapped in a whirlpool of swirling vodka,
At this point, he can't even feel his limbs.
He tries to cover up his slow demise with a backflip,
But I can see through the ruse, I can taste the bitter tears washing to shore.
He said he'd never slip but now his eyes are fastened shut.

As if it's not enough, he's convinced himself that he can fly,
Smoke billows from his ears as he somersaults across the night sky and kisses the stars.
He told me he was going high up, to a land where sadness was a myth.
He said he was going to the clouds, but he promised he'd come back down.
He never anticipated that his descent would be at the speed of light.