My weary soul returns to mourn in Appalachia,
A place were Sam built well my burial chamber.
Now, drunken slumber translates my long held grief,
And no boundless peace gives me relief.
Sorrow begets tears.
Can life name now one man
To grieve when love dissolves?
Oh, but when time comes for you like a thief,
Take heed you don’t spit in the wind,
Or else an Ireland kin may forget their kindness.
Fools tool barstool drools in parodies of old-school:
A glass full of lost love
And Blue Eyes Crying In The Rain,
Diminished to zero, this nothingness burns.
Accomplish the end: stop now, finish and be done!
The moon rises in sorrow crossing the night,
Not happy her eyes must behold my tragedy.
Always running on empty; only a reflection of light,
The shadows of Luna woo me, as a mournful dove-
Shaping and re-shaping.