24 and there's so much more...
Neil Young
And there's so much less not even a rhyme. So pick a path, jog, go berserk with beans in a kitchen, with weights in a gym: liver's pain twisting higher each year but I vibrate in docs' doorways it's topped up and topped up, so I can grip hard to doubt, not hope, that's been long skinned to the bone, go Scotchless for fortnights, but dry equals boredom. These are the paths: booze or dusting cement with a feather.