Heart of Fools Gold

Wine drops on the bottom Of the pewter cauldron Like blood I stain the dry caking mud A spilt offering, a blessing For my second guessing Love is a fiction A dreadful addiction Tinged with sorrow Happiness we borrow From fantasy Obscure reality Kisses sour like liquor I wonder what ends quicker The alcohol buzz or being love drunk The feeling leaves me sicker Confessions for a vicar A chair from a tree stump I wonder at dumb luck For a good fuck And I start turning cold While pewter turns to gold