Martina Two

How little we levitate, to our inventive best, we sneer, berate, open every door, who can mend our fences, and not get bored, shattered we begin to slake, drink like all the rest, don't stop or hesitate, fools sing forever more, bring us to the test, ask what's the score, the night's cool probate, resides at rest, no matter what toil it takes, forbidden troubadours, demand our presence, leave us forlorn, but twist and shake, at the Cask or blend, this beats the pain, my good friends.