Skyclad

I'll paly Bacchus for the evening,
pray, be seated, take your places
Should my manna seem displeasing,
offend your airs and graces,
I've a list long as your arm,
(The connoisseur's selection)
such bitter whines - a quaff of qualms,
awaiting your inspections
The bubbles burst - this aint sham-pain
I've watched hopes wither on the vine
The fruits of labours toiled in vain
I reap soul-grapes at harvest time.
Anno 1999 - a classic year for Vintage Whine.
Since it's drawn - I must sup the cellarage of sorrow
yet fate refills my tarnished cup each time I drain the dregs
Their poison cannot kill me - new strength from it I 'll borrow
my maudlin is a caudle that would fill a thousand kegs.
Here's one for the road - afore ye go