Swig and swill, so says the urge,
O’er the top, burning liquor in turgid drops,
Hands all over little Brandy’s frame,
My, my, how the little liquor drowns in fame…
Poor liver o’ mine,
Gulping poison and sweet grime,
Your cries can’t reach me,
Your pleas die before they reach my drunken mind.
Like a mage with infinite powers,
A necromancer to dead emotions,
And feelings buried under layers of self-consciousness,
You summon our deepest desires,
Lay out the red carpet, and let our deepest thoughts,
Strut along.
What’s the worst that could happen?
Only those without fear will rule the earth.
And thus, in your glistening countenance,
You drown our every fear,
Of rejection and awkwardness,
You break the chains that once held back my tongue,
And cause my deepest secrets to flow,
Like lava from angry volcano’s.
I revel in this new strength,
My body courses with the power,
I know not how to contain.
But like everything else, this happy night will end.
And so I ask, oh friend of the night.
Where will you be when the morning comes?
When the chains of panache return,
Will you be by my side, fighting the soldiers of reason,
Or will you look on from your shiny bottle,
Awaiting another chance to make a warrior out of me?
