Bitter bacardi makes the black stones dance. (Villanelle) by SupremeDreamer
These black ole stones have just kept rollin,
& there be nothing that I fear,
while my golden bacardi bottle starts callin.
My weary friends much rather keep on stallin;
& even so, I hold them all dear,
but the black ole stones must keep on rollin.
All day I hear their sly voices softly talkin,
so what they say is never clear
when my golden bacardi bottle keeps on callin.
Sighs escape, while my Marlboro keeps a-burnin,
& though I've kept my past near,
these black ole stones have to keep on rollin.
Some reckon I'm one who delights in moon howlin
canines bared, & stifling a tear--
but that's just my golden bacardi bottle callin.
It's this cold 'n solitary dark that I'm stalkin,
donnin my surcoat 'n hat so drear--
but these black ole stones have to keep on rollin
'cause the golden bacardi bottle is who be callin.
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