Classic Poem

Face haggard, turning yellow and puffy,
Waist, bent like a drawn bow.
Lying on his side next to a small lit lamp,
He holds the pipe as his family fortune goes down its hole.
Look at him:
Soon he will be six feet underground.
Lazy, remiss, he won't move even if you drag him.
He's about to meet King Yimlo at Hell's tenth palace.