The Pub Cure

How the strange lad's poems and a pint offer the perfect cure for the troubled heart.

With heavy rain and gloom in the air,
Unable to lock grief outside the door,
You leave the despair on the square,
Come to this pub and wait no more.

The staff are warm, the locals kind,
A fresh new poem from the strange lad.
With local brew, you start to unwind,
And open up about the week you've had.

No GPs here, no waiting list,
No drugs to fuel a Pharma kickback.
We pour the drinks but watch your back,
And cut you off before you crack.

More than a venue for sharing rounds,
With vinyl, DJs, and this open mic to play.
A brewery where good times abound,
With pizzas delivered by Paul from the TJ.

Don't think you face the dark alone,
There’s a pint waiting just for you.
Come back often, make this your home,
We help each other stay happy and true.