So I have four Italians at my doorstep,
By no fault of their own.
They are cold, tired and hungry.
There were supposed to be two,
And I wasn’t supposed to be welcoming them,
For I am only a tennant,
In these faulty towers.
But there is happiness to this madness,
Tonight I shall indulge
All the pleasures…
Blatantly, and without inhibition.
Because no one can touch me,
Now that I have done another man’s job.
No one will dare knock on my door
Asking me to cease and desist,
When they cannot succeed at independence
In managing the affairs
of the self-orchestrated hurricane they call a life.
-Calling in favours
Whimsical Wordsmith 