Hey Dylan,
What's Shakin?
You're down all the time
seems you need a rubber balloon
to swell inside you
and buoy you up
into the normalcy of existance
which you have grown to claim to hate.

I want to fly across the Continent
to put a smile on those dry lips
and a tongue in that wet mouth,
the brandy pouring down your chin
when you remember you shouldn't drink
the medicine comes far too smoothly.

You say you're so sweet and sour
orange and tangy
in gelatine induced suspension,
a bug trapped in amber.
But I've got a crystal ball
and that forest green gaze
will never get tired
of this here hotel.