The night has a language of mystery,
Opening the veil of eternity, the early hours echo ecstasy.
Show me where the soma flows,
Show me through the bleeding bones,
Show me where the honey leads the drones.
A possession of poetry, the Rubaiyat bubbles inside of me.
and takes me to a place few have seen.
The world I enter isn’t real, the enchantment changes how I feel,
the voices in my head what do they conceal… the morning after?
I’m magnetized by her energy, she helps me cleanse my impurity,
but she destroys my sobriety.
My glass is filled, I raise the toast to the queen of the honeycomb,
she’s the infection, I am the host.
She had a million-dollar chest, jeweled nipples in silhouette,
tantalizing nape of neck.
She could break a man in two with just the wink of an eye,
but that secret stays with you… the morning after.
The moon will accept this serenade, it has no choice the bed’s been made…
it has no choice the bed’s been made…
The moon will accept this serenade, it has no choice the judgment’s made… (rpt) the morning after
Tossed and turned ’til break of dawn, thought I couldn’t keep on.
I felt weak in so many ways.
Our life’s a magic shadow show, you never try you never know,
we’re all stranded in this maze.
Do the masters practice what they teach, a celibate life of virginity?
The rain doesn’t mind, but the storm clouds know, yes they know… the morning after.
So many nights I was obsessed, dreaming of the magic in her caress,
thinking of words to suggest
I pranced around like a criminal, waiting for a sign or a symbol,
that she would let me in her nest
There’s no need to second-guess the succulent sex and pumping flesh,
there’s no need to second-guess
A wise man doesn’t have regrets, but the foolish man groans… yes he groans…
There’s one thing that is certain and the rest is lies, a flower blooms but yet must die.
Come fill the cup in the fire of spring, time is slipping underneath our feet.
Dreams melt away, scattered and slain, enchanted oracles subtly sway.
Butterflies into the dust descend, then the cycle starts back up again.
Like a moth to a flame, I’m engulfed in desire, I’m engulfed in desire… the morning after.
Images of roses and nightingales
Sweet smell of incense from fairytales
Starry skies and we set sail; the sirens tie me to a bed of nails
Taste the soul; swallow each other whole
Life ebbs away so ephemeral
Now I only see a ghost. Her cream white skin feels so close… so close…
The moon will accept this serenade, it has no choice the bed’s been made
It has no choice the bed’s been made.
It has no choice the bed’s been made, the moon will accept this serenade
It has no choice the bed’s been made… the morning after.
The morning after…
Now I only see a ghost, her cream white skin feels so close, so close….
© 2001 Jeremy J dePrisco ASCAP
Inspired by The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam