Idle weeks

We are all idle weeks,
 they drank, ate, drank-sang,
 until everyone's drunk,
 before everyone overeats,
 until the voices died.
 How did we get stranded,
 our voices are hooked,
 and they didn't sing at all,
 neither drank nor ate,
 as one solovely.
 And noticeably thinner,
 in these idle weeks,
 and hoarse and hoarse,
 all free weeks,
 and a little blue.
 Here are such drags,
 in new year's week,
 spun like a Blizzard,
 slaughtered and eaten,
 all the supplies, really…