Esme

Then you wave ta ra, it sometimes makes me shiver, I die sitting at the bar, you say I am a fool, to give a little quiver, you'll be back soon, takes you tell are rotten, stories of ports and rivers, other lives you've scarred, my image's just a spool, something you deliver, bottles, tar, tidal floods, pictures from afar, between passage as my lover, left like a door ajar, forgive this poor fool, somewhere she remembers, when they drain the pool, you won't be living.