Instrumental

It’s not so bad,
But I’d quite like to feel well.
It’s fine and all, the alongside and the attendant.
The sickly and the trembling,
Like we took the cheapest flight out of hell
And reality has the mother of all jetlags.
But…
It’s fine, it’s fine, all shits and giggles, but I’ll put it like this:
Imagine my chest is a cheap set of bellows,
And my mouth is some weird instrument that only weirdos learn to play.
That would be quite tiring, would it not?
To be quite frank, I’d quite like to feel well now.