Lowry, Malcolm: We sit unhackled drunk and mad to edit

Notions of freedom are tied up with drink
Our ideal life contains a tavern
Where man may sit and talk of or just think
All without fear of the nighted wyvern,
Or yet another tavern where it appears.
There are no no trust sign no no credit
And apart from the unlimited beer
We sit unhackled drunk and mad to edit
Tracts of a really better land where man
May drink a finer, ah , an undistilled wine,
That subtley intoxicates without pain,
Weaving the vision of the unassimilable inn
Where we may drink forever,
Whit the door open, and the wind blowing.