Dipsomaniac, detect the Sipsmith

Sill fresh on my lips

And move toward the danger that you

Crave,

Oh Miss Misbehaver,

Half-dead brandy-bather,

Drown your sorrows in my

Numbing waters.

 

Oh, how with every breath I take (and make)

You lose yourself in the petroleum

Mist… haze… fog…

Leapfrog your abstinence and give in to your urges!

Add fuel to the fire!

Moth to the flame!

I’ll happily take the blame.

 

And if every green bottle should accidentally fall,

My heart of glass should be enough to replace them all.