king of the pub, the nightlife was
his.
The ladies would flock to his little
corner of the universe, ears and eyes
wide open; oh, the stories he could tell.
Stories of his time at sea, defending
“the free world” from all the atrocities
brewing; in the minds of “the evil.”
But now? Now he’s a relic, long over
the hill, just basking in the warmth of
warm Spanish nights and sangria wine.
The lady that broke his heart in small
town Scotland, those big blue eyes, he
never forgot her.
That ship had long since sailed, and he
spins the yarns to any passerby that will
listen too his stories, of his glory days;
when he was strong as an ox, back when
he could stay out all night and report back
to his ship; working his fingers to the bone-
for his god and his country.
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