Ancient Poets Lyrics

My muse is lying drunk on the couch

I had to go and tell her

I began to write a poem (like the ancient poets would've done)

But I guess the wine this days is stronger

My soul is hanging from the ceiling trying to make it to the door

I throw my pen on the floor

My muse breaks the silence with a sigh

Still dreaming of the ancient times

Where slaves were freer that our colleagues

I go to the bed to rest my head

And through the open window

A gust of wind informs me

That autumn is leaving the stage

Making way for winter in the final act

And then the trees break the walls

I am walking through the forest of new born sorrow

Where animals and men sleep tight

Not thinking of tomorrow

And there's the whisper through the leaves

A voice of a god I haven't met

He gives me ways to understand

Ways I'll soon forget