Apologies. Already I have slipped into sex-and-suicide mode, except today it's more about dying than having fun in the sack.

What’s your poison?

What’s your poison?
Where’s it gonna end?
Cancerous gut?
Or a stroke, my friend?

What’s their poison?
A bottle of pills?
Cotton wool dreams
Snuffing all our ills?

Try my poison?
Pour another glass
Drink it down slow
Let this sad life pass