The lights were looking sweetly
The moon so pale and meekly
I love to see the drunkard brawling
And to know that I'm not he
The sea is softly coughing
On the fish its scoffing
Light house turned on 'n' off
But not in bluffing like the tide
For truth sinks like a stone
The cats are chewing whiskers
And the dogs are talking bones
And I am speaking in whispers
To the matrons on the phone
I need a graveyards solace
To spice the life upon us
To rule with rod of iron
All these thoughts of being alone
And soldiers march in suchness of the
Expectations upon us
False antelopes of silence
That the lions hunt and own
The fledgling jungle grows
In tame pursuance of the rose
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