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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Standing in a garden on the edge of a ridge Pissing out of the wine of the night The sea below looks to be grumbling But the party is still louder than that The Heavens above may be burning Yet she's back there holding my hat If she saw me here in my manhood There would be two dances more to be had But she's too busy with a mild maiden Judging my shadow, my words, and this song I wish I had a memory to cling onto Instead of my wit which is decidedly gone There's a roundabout of gentlemen wild Drinking all in sight that's left to be sunk My lady stands glimmering below light-bulbs Strung lower than my standards tonight Though luck has made me a winner Tonight I can't bare to get into this fight It would be me, myself and an umpire Judging my swings against my blows Now I'd usually have myself done for But her skin has arrested my fists And opened they hold out my heaviness Like schoolboys caught, or tramps to the blind I could shoot myself here by the bandstand And sit dying in a pool of my piss and blood I ain't ready for love and its yelling Its burning sensations and welcoming arms No give me a chance at the brutal Give me another go at the dolls Don't hold out this angel and torture Don't make me a martyr tonight My reputable repertoire of near misses Is staked though the fix in the game She dealt me a night of clean aces But I've been fishing and soon lose it all She eyes me like land from open sea But this old crow want to nest and forget My black feathers they aught to be stretching Flying east to dawn with a dove That I could steal from her beak some olives And make a crown of peace to depart My last drink I drink has me spilling All my needs the length of a woman Let this fool be wrapped in her wiles My glass shatters to diamonds and shards Best cut your feet in this garden of Eden And step hard to forget her somehow
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