Flower of youth, serene in besotted slumber,
Oblivious to the unforgiving pavement on which you rest your spinning head,
How free of troubles are you now! The uneasy burden of too many solid morsels now ejected,
Weary reveler, seek your repose upon this gritty slab of hardened cement,
This brief parcel of Pattison that you have claimed inadvertently.

Your team plays at home, yet here in defiance you lay bedecked in
The road blues of a uniform long since retired, an homage to past glory,
Accented with the unmistakable scarlet blotches of festive mixed drinks.
They are the remnants of strawberry Jell-O, perhaps, molded with incredibly generous portions
Of… Stoli? Smirnoff? To you it makes no difference, my pixilated pixie!

Queen of Questionable Quaffing, be at peace!
Your friends may have abandoned you, but their betrayal is of no concern to you now.
Kick off your shoes and stretch your loaded frame (I see you are halfway there — good on you!)
For thine is the Kingdom of Happy Oblivion, majestic in its nothingness,
And bottled water shall greet you when you wake.