The evening's hungover, it lingers its stay...
Nothing's welcome, at least not anywhere I stay.
My thoughts are lackadaisical, the world's - abysmal!
I like the fabled fables of a distant faraway land,
Of a man's courage and the women who were indeed brave.
Of fearless, silly flirts and their battle with death,
Of a shipwreck and the tides that spewed just one to say
its tale.
It is in a messenger's nepotism that I see the world,
While my windows just carry the scent of willows and the
air of heroes.
The attic is damp and the bottles are now free at last,
To ferry my queries to a Viking on his quest...
Dear Sire... can you swoosh your triumph in this bottle of
mine?
So that I will drink it on a fateful night fighting the
demons in my head?
