Rounds

One bottle of pop,
Two bottles of pop,
Three bottles of pop,
Four bottles of pop,
Five bottles of pop,
Six bottles of pop,
Seven, Seven bottles of pop.           

Fish and chips and vinegar,
Vinegar, vinegar.
Fish and chips and vinegar,
And pepper, pepper, pepper, salt.      

Don't chuck your muck in my  dustbin,
My dustbin, my dustbin, my dustbin.
Don't chuck your muck in my dustbin,                         

My dustbin's full.                

---

Ah, another artifact from my childhood. At first glance, nonsense sung in rounds...
and yet, you realize it accurately describes the actions you are thinking in your head,
"Drink, Eat, preferably in large quantities and over seasoning." Whether that happens
or not is a matter of placing yourself on the spectrum, and oftentimes particularly
changing depending on mood and even time of day.

Oh, by the way, my dustbin *is* quite full and has started a new pile of shopping bags, cartons,
and empty containers. What a sad state.

The irony of the situation: even though we've all become bonded over the internet,
the whole ritual of the thoughts, the actions, gestures, and afterthoughts are
quite private. No rounds to be sung. We sing alone. In silence.