\\\ If these were the times, the days, slippery in content, slippery in objective, when he caught sight of old faces and old obsessions he barely wanted to know, when he was crowned king of the paupers and gave his life away = "it's as if he was boss" = and he let fly, truly devastated, no one knew what went on inside, when he was crowned king of the losers and the alcoholic content of each day spiralled out of all control, all reason, and he was drowning without cause; it was easy to reflect back, a stray digital photograph, a face in the street.