St. Coll.
And the buildings add shade to shade. Through the solitary streets we´ll walk, standing at the lonesome tea tray smoking the last cigarettes on the empty watering hole while watching a boat disappear in the haze. We´ll all be lonely. The empty driveways, all the empty parking lots. "At least the streetlights are illuminating..." The wind is our only chum left, which is bearable. We are driving on the wheels of no fuel... the strained st. Coll, the overdo. I´m on the lonesome limb without the halo. The graven bough near my toe is the bayleaf I wear above. My wife and children gone, I´m left alone on the bow... the bartable neighbouring my head. Visiting the rest.
The rum bottle encasing my head.
A bottle of rum encasing my dreams.
The bailiff is here, he´s here to lead me out. My cell is cold, for the outdoors bring a storm. -The rancor is in bloom. The vineyard I used to watch with elation is now in the palm of my hands, -on my lips. Out-of-doors and dopey I brood... the ship is sinking and I´m inboard. The hue of rainbow mountains in blues, the remoteness is viewless. Is there a view of happiness in this room?
The rum bottle encasing my head.
A bottle of rum encasing my dreams.
The bailiff is here, he´s here to lead me out. My cell is cold, for the outdoors bring a storm. -The rancor is in bloom. The vineyard I used to watch with elation is now in the palm of my hands, -on my lips. Out-of-doors and dopey I brood... the ship is sinking and I´m inboard. The hue of rainbow mountains in blues, the remoteness is viewless. Is there a view of happiness in this room?