Sugar rolls sweet upon my tongue

And once again I feel so young,

Back to the age when leaves were green

And the world had a lustrous sheen,

Back to the times of simple joy

When we could all truly be coy,

Labyrinth of precious pleasure,

Whence have I buried this treasure?

What a spoonful of white powder

Can conjure up in an instant,

How it can make old songs louder

And remote years no more distant

Than the silver under your thumb,

I cannot say nor can explain

But beware that it makes one numb

To the world which then becomes plain…

It is as treacherous as snow

Even to those that think they know,

Sinister wolf in sheep’s clothing

Seed of endless, painful loathing,

Beware for this lady of death

Tightens her claws with each new breath,

Sugar rolled sweet onto my tongue

And once again I wake and long…


O immerse a dear rug.

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