The Craving

As a boy Charles fished on the Thames riverside He had a songbird, a dog, but life took a slide His father got him a dead-end job in a Scottish town It became a vortex bringing him down. He got married young, soon nine kids to feed His job barely paid; how could he get freed? He illustrated books, still not enough If you want to restart, in that situation its tough. He ordered goods on loan, sold them for the bottle Urge above reason, opened up full throttle. He raided his kid's money box, he had little choice The craving was too strong, it suppressed that moral voice. One night he drank wood varnish, had no money for a drink Such crazy self-damage drove him over the brink Got delirium tremens, for months had to crawl Doors closed behind him, he entered hell hall. He ended up confined in a mental home. Hallucinations crept in, much memory gone, Was he a victim, or would you call it his sin? Punished beyond justice, then epilepsy did him in. For Charle's son Arthur, fate made amends Arthur made his own path; could back out of dead ends He created "Sherlock Holmes" a story that still has a hold He wanted more fame for other books, but there he stuck gold. Maybe Charles too could have made it, was not sealed for doom Didn't have to have ethanol carve the letters on his tomb But the craving is strong, drugs modify the brain Sheer willpower can't take a man off the runaway train.