Forever young, in glory

Why drink when drowning is an option
glory is all
and was more still
when the gods were crueller
the shimmer casts a strange light
that sets the walls to writhing

sip
whet the blade
until the lick of its tongue
can wipe the memories from mortar
if a man died from a dunk
in the fountain of eternal youth
and pissed himself as he went
I would call it poetic

and smile in honour of fates humour
but every mans destiny
can't be so fine a tale
so sip
whet the blade
and I will make do
with the taste of war