They tryst and mingle - sailor's blood and sea -
such that earth-time, ticking, works enmity
to the breaker-cast eyes, the world-rim gaze,
final-harbour fixed and lanced with blue blaze,
and all-wanting of the eternal glance back.
Torpid time, torture time, trillion, quintillion time,
antagonizing the music in the surf;
Blessed Realm blood, set to Westernesse:
hostage to time, the soul is stretched on its rack;
sings, in sunset fire, until the world goes black.
Born from almost-corpse, spiritual infant,
with sun-counting conscience, that straddles
eternity and time, take into your sea battles
rum, rum, rum sweet rum, sweet rum, sweet, sweet rum;
take rum, sweet rum, sweet rum, sweet rum, rum, rum.
Question: Why is the rum always gone?
This is for Word & Question as hosted by Shredded Cheddar.