You and me and a bottle makes 3 tonight.
Of late I seem to be always in the eye of the storm. Actually not the storm, just a storm. A storm that constantly moves and lays waste while I smile, clink ice and enjoy the music. 'Claire de Lune' seems to be rolling around the base of my skull tonight, providing chamber music for a psyche that is looking more and more 'Dylan Thomas-esque' every day. But you know, without the poetry. Actually, no. Don't try and tell me that eyeing a street light through the bottom of a bottle is'nt poetry.
Another night, another filed existence soon to become all but blur and memory. Looking around the room there seems to more omens than Nosferatu having a fit on a ouija board. All the player's are here and the clouds are once again beginning to form. Yup, a storm's a brewing. In a moment, the space will once again turn to chaos, rubble and tigers.
While Debussy and I rage against the dying of the light.
Come on baby, knock me a kiss..
Another night, another filed existence soon to become all but blur and memory. Looking around the room there seems to more omens than Nosferatu having a fit on a ouija board. All the player's are here and the clouds are once again beginning to form. Yup, a storm's a brewing. In a moment, the space will once again turn to chaos, rubble and tigers.
While Debussy and I rage against the dying of the light.
Come on baby, knock me a kiss..