There's a man who always goes to the liquor store at night

When you look at him, its strange, he doesn't look quite right,

Creeping around, shaky, stumbly, but sober enough to buy a beer

When you turn around he just goes and disappears.

You strike up a conversation with him one afternoon

See that his leg’s got a vine tattoo

He says to call him “Big Dion”,

Says he’s been alive for eons.

You spot him again the next day at lunch,

He’s sitting down, posture in a slunch.

Stomach of a potbelly shape,

He smells awfully like grapes.

You meet him again the next morning

Up in the sky, a storm’s forming

But all Dion does is stare at the sky

Doesn't even return your goodbye.

There’s a god who always goes to the liquor store at night

When you look at him, you know its him alright.

Drunken, flushed, tipsy and plastered

It’s good to see that old beer bastard.