DRUNKEN GENIUS

Sitting in his hovel,

squinting in the darkness,

clacking at his keyboard,

there sits a drunken genius.

He could still be a brain surgeon,

he could still be an engineer,

he could still be an artist,

or ruler of the entire fucking world.

But what does it come down to?

It comes down to motivation.

Which is at it's lowest point,

in his lamentation.

All he did and was to do,

was to impress his love.

But now here sits this twisted genius

staring at the stars above.

He was at the top of all the social classes,

he was the richest the world had ever seen,

treasuring most of all,

his beloved wife and queen.

For her he cured diseases,

and purified the nile,

and wrote the most beautiful poetry,

all to make her smile.

And from his inspiration

there now comes but falling tears-

for his love has been dead and gone,

for four and twenty years.

Everything he ever did,

he did in mind of her,

and everything he'd have ever done,

he'd have done in mind of her.

And all the fame and glory

from all of the entire world

would mean but a grain of dust to him,

by the eyes of his old girl.

And without her loving gaze

and without her caressing touch,

he's fallen to a craze,

as he misses her too much.

Instead of living for his love,

he simply slowly dies,

for he gazes at not her, but the mirror,

and sees only his hollow eyes.

So what good are fame and glory,

to memories drowned in beer,

of living for one's love,

wishing she were still here.

Copyright Š2000 Ashi Shadow