Viudita de Cliquot

At fifteen the sane ones cut my wings to tie me down
At twenty I escaped by force from the foot of the altar
At thirty I was ready for anything without a bulletproof vest
London was Montparnasse without the French, Atocha with the sea

At forty and ten I shipwrecked on a plus ultra without a lighthouse
My horse came back home alone, what happened to John Wayne?
I crossed the line just to fit in
At 60, what does the size of my Calvin Klein matter

It never makes up for tuning the guitar that reins my horse
When the dealer asked me, if I didn't say no
The ant died, the cicada died with someone else
I bet on the fallen chips of your domino

Let's go, children of the homeland
Cursed May of Paris
I sold the nails of my cross in Portobello
I toasted the devil's health

Her name was Rebecca, the American who tied with me
She stuck out her tongue instead of teaching me how to kiss
She bought me a storm after stealing my coat
With a wet back, there's nothing worse than dreaming

I negotiated a draw in chess: Your bishop for my pawns
I drank from the nipples with Lot's wife's salt
Before November dyed my rooms
I uncorked another bottle with the widow of Cliquot

Let's go, children of the homeland
Cursed May of Paris
I sold the nails of my cross in Portobello
I toasted the devil's health

My way of committing was to run away