The Ocean Cried 'Blue Murder'

Penguin spins the caviar... Trois rouge. We drown it quick before it

hatches. We wash it down with absynthe, spit it out with roses. Captain

turns the hoses on the crawling crowd. We're on a cloud, we're on our

knees, we're singing all the songs our fathers taught us. Still the band

plays on (relieved!). They locked up all their daughters, deep down,

horizontal in the hold. We're much too old and much too drunk to hold a

conversation. Too far gone to see the mountain waving through the crack

that was the floor