You may know of a certain kind of pilgrimage, long and stubbled with hazards
Begrudging though the journey, once acknowledged, little else matters
Your sleepy eyes droopy, internal pain a curse
You make your way to mecca, your porcelian church
Fueld by discomfort, a companion for a awhile
Prayers uttered and stars thanked when you make it to the tile
Awash in relief, salvation is essential
But it's fleeting for the young, the drunk, and the wrinkled
Awash in relief, salvation is essential
But it's fleeting for the young, the drunk, and the wrinkled
No trip is more arduous nor traveler more resentful
Than a sleeper roused from bed, desperate for a tinkle.
Photo credit Daniel Oines
Than a sleeper roused from bed, desperate for a tinkle.
Photo credit Daniel Oines
This is awesome, and soooooo true.
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