I have become intoxicated again.
You are such a potent wine, my friend.
To escape your withdrawal effects,
tomorrow I will drink in excess.
Alas, why make me love?
I was aware, conscious, and sensible before.
I am ill by cause of this illusion.
The devil plays tricks on me more and more.
I was a harp you immaculately plucked at will.
Your score, the nightingale song within
notes composed to imprison and bear me wings.
Oh, if only they could hear how it sings!
I am now beyond parched.
My strings left untouched.
You are no longer an oasis, my friend,
but a mirage soon coming to an end.
