One time I’m in the mould and jamming with the worms.
Another locked in stir and nearer lunacy
than half a dozen men that I have ever been.
I think, therefore I stink when I again would drink.
So many faces grace the moods I shred as lace
and I cannot keep thought from jumbling in a knot.
Once long ago when strong I hung it on the moon.
The ethanol and madness fall and cause me crawl
from that white light the werewolf fights on brilliant nights.
So what is real and what is thought I’ll rot to know,

Assonance 

When sober Booze Hound is sound, yes he is solid
down to earth he is a bloke whose thoughts are coherent.
Thoughts are well founded and down right consistent

Consonance

Mad bad and low down
danger hides deep in the depths 
Of his dirty debauched  soul