It was a wednesde' night
While 40 year old Henry writes
In his diary
What happened in his life..
But Tonight
Hed get action frightening
But yet still wouldn't be writing
..Heres the story of the irony of Henrys diary

The diary sat on his lap with an itch
Another night as the drink drips
He wanted to touch it but couldn't
Something like the last piece of.. christmas pudding
So he sat knowing he found his feet
Looking at his warm slippers discrete
As the fire depletes quickly
From the time going swiftly
The closest he ever got too kissing
Was when sitting.. holding his glass of whisky
Hed passed being frisky
Hed just sit simply
Holding the arm of his chair like a ladys hand
Henry got wasted, when people said' hes a crazy man'
He always had a lazy plan
Thats why he never did much
Without the partys.. he lived dutch
He never grooved but was stuck in a rut
His life sucked.. more than dyson hoovers
Only knows the manouvears of a loooser
'Beggers can't be choosers'
But he begged to choose.. What to do
So finally his diary would be used
But now when the biggest finale will take place
& he could be known like harleys.. for wills
Yet can't make trace as he lyes dead
But his prides finally read.