They were bottled souls,
Simply looking for a glass to fill.
So they asked for me,
And I came against my will.
Advice on the rocks,
A lad of my age ought to know.
I might not fancy the taste,
But it’s something to keep on the go.
All that they said,
Both a bit bitter and sweet.
I was used to different flavours.
They were used to neat.
A bottled soul,
Hopefully aging like fine wine,
With a distaste,
For the stale words of Wisemen,
Rendered poor old fools with time.