Wearily I sit and listen To the water's ceaseless drip. To my lip Fate turns up the bitter cup, Forcing me to sip; 'Tis a bitter, bitter drink, Thus I sit and think.
I like too many things and get all confused and hung-up running from one falling star to another till I drop. This is the night, what it does to you. I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion.
