Walter Walter....

This goblet I hold- numb fever-
They call me names. 'Drunkard'
They say, but who are they-
Mortal robots. Working, working
For what they know not. And
I drink, I drink to you my Lord.
I drink to the numbness in my vein.

I sit on my couch of dreams.
I watch them running about.
He aches-cries for want of love.
And She from too much of it.
He wails in pain for the wound
Is deep; He, from too many to
Keep. And they pass through
Frames, wanting, and not the same.

I sit and drink and muse, hmmm
Ah! what fancy pictures to paint.
I do not want to understand and
The dreary pictures dissolve again
Nothingness removes the mask
That was. Now, the drowsy smell
Of Moon. Now. the music of the Flow
Fill me again Lord, ah, hell.