Funny thing thou to find
In a glass of wine

Leaves of yesterday
Hiding the fruit
Until ripe under the sun

Distant corners
Of subconscious
On the loose

Fleurs d’acacia
And citrus notes
Drumming the counterpoint
To the alcohol volume
That messes with thy mind

And just like the sun
Never was to see the sweat beads
It caused under the straw hat
Of a hard worker on the field

Thou shall never see
The thoughts that swirl
Under this curly head of mine

But then time after time
After I let thee into my world
Maybe you’ll hear it through the grapevine
Never have I really been anyone else’s
Just as I never was to leave