Viudita de Cliquot

At fifteen, they cut my wings, tying me down
At twenty, I escaped the altar's grip, no way around
At thirty, I took up arms, no bulletproof vest in sight
London was Montparnasse, no tourists, Atocha felt right

At forty, I shipwrecked on a plus ultra with no light
My horse came home alone, what happened to John Wayne's fight?
I crossed the line just to fit in the mold
At sixty, who cares about the size of my Calvin Klein hold?

Nothing replaces strumming the guitar that tames my steed
When the dealer asked me, I said no, but I didn't heed
The little ant died, the grasshopper married another
I bet on the fallen pieces of your domino, my lover

Let's go, children of the homeland
Damn May in Paris, it’s a hard stand
I sold the nails of my cross in Portobello's view
I toasted with the devil, cheers to you

Her name was Rebecca, the girl who matched my vibe
She stuck out her tongue instead of teaching me to jive
She bought me a storm after stealing my coat
With a wet back, there's nothing worse than dreaming afloat

I negotiated chess pieces: your bishop for my pawns
I drank from the nipples, salt from Lot's wife, it dawns
Before November stained my rooms with its hue
I popped another bottle with the widow of Cliquot too

Let's go, children of the homeland
Damn May in Paris, it’s a hard stand
I sold the nails of my cross in Portobello's view
I toasted with the devil, cheers to you

My way of committing was to run away, it's true