A blinding light from old job brakes,
a fist goes up, in unison we call,
muffled spitting, and ticks out aloud.
The spirit is steadily rising not from with in,
coerced gently back from the bin,
I'll be rubbished no more, by money grabbing
bastards! above the factory floor.
Thanks to many good dried out thinkers,
who have helped me raise my fingers,
strength in my numbers, now thats one,
Remembering Bills words, up your bum.
The fight is back so tame that anger,
a stealthy prolonged attack,
is more affective than jabbing and running back.
Thankful gratitude to all my many good friends,
with a special thanks to all in Recovery,
and my boys who give me untold strength.