The hour is surpassed
Clouds drifting in fantasy
Movement in flags of war
The bandit dons a mask.
Moments slaughtered
By ladies passing through
Who wiped the odd fevered brow
But could never tell me why or how.
For the balcony it is heaven
The bottle it is Hell
The rain a friend of earth
But the maid she is unwell.
Her cooking is not pleasant
Though her body it is warm
She drinks as well as any man
Throughout the raging storm.