hey mr Busker check this out : Sometimes it seems my blood spurts out in gobs As if it were a fountains pulsing sobs; I clearly hear it mutter as it goes, Yet cannot find the wound from which it flows. Then through the city, coursing in the lists, It travels, forming islands in its midst, Seeing that every creature will be fed And staining nature its flamboyant red. Oh, I have asked of wine the magic way To drug my terrors, even for a day; Wine clears the eye, makes hearing more distinct! Ive sought forgetfulness in love, but failed, Since love for me is just a bed of nails Made to provide these women bloody drink! The Fountain Of Blood by Charles Baudelaire (From the flowers of evil)
Posted on: Mon, 17 Feb 2014 02:11:36 +0000
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