Do you ramble, Why I am sober all the time?
It is the only question worth considering;
How can I answer your question;
Until you’re intoxicated;
Many things are worthless;
Until you take a dip in it;
Never care, I don’t feel broken;
Neither I have a massive burden shoulders;
To drag you beneath the earth;
To know me you must intoxicate;
Yourself without truce;
And with what?
Is it wine, poetry or art?
As you want to know;
Sometimes in steps of a palace;
Or in the balcony of your house;
Sometimes the sad solitude of your own company;
Or while drifting in woods;
While You wake up in the morning;
Your handover is already diminishing;
As the morning breeze slapping your face;
And the birds haunting your clock;
You roll yourself asking “what time it is”?
To get, intoxicate again;
Then I could answer your question;
Why I decide to be sober still;
To escape for the slavish martyrdom of time;
I want us to get unceasingly intoxicate;
With Wine, Poetry or art;
What say you, baby?