My drunken soul
My souls inhibitions fly
In the place where his wine
Is ever in limitless supply
Lost in the moment
My soul throws its coat to ground
Reaching for the wine of love
Like a bird reaching for a cloud
Seeking permanent residence
The soul is souring, flying
Wrapping its hands around the cup
It first throws away its glove
Then drinks the wine
With vigour and love
Even angels wings tire
But the soul is still flying
Through the taverns door
Drinking every drop
Even the ones on the floor
