In all delight of wine and attained delusion
The reflection you seek resides in the mirror
Where the mind renders an image of you
Inside the enchanted forest of the lost season
I am the ambience of what you desire
And all the lurid thoughts of a raging fire
Paradise is attained at the mouth of wine
Now consume, devour the last remaining hour
Strangely they talk and monk the clouds
That drift so aimlessly through our loose orbit
Softly you look from afar so astound
By the shapes and colors of unfamiliar sounds
Languidly you feel the sensation of warmth
Inside the square circle of your intoxication
Everything here will change at your own accord
For the evening is young and waiting for death
No comments:
Post a Comment