sing, muse, of despair, of the fond buried fair, of the nightingale that now croons. that quit salons for saloons,
did trade honey for ale, a lift for a wail. These barboys, all souse and rut, preen flatter and strut,
would mount birds barely wooed by a liquor this crude, that once did move meadows to dew, raised the dear from dead once said:
"Wake, Fairest, and folow; make a room in your tomb for all sorrow, eyes burn to look on you. I wont steal a gaze but borrow.
Wait fairest, dont go. curse a berse this hollow, ill burn meter, spin sugar, shame zeus, venus, apollo"
The gods are assps.
Drink freinds dance down your past. Love and virtue wont last. make time with mad, shreaking tarts. let them rip you apart.
they can start with your heart.