The city of San Francisco
Drinks more Fernet
Every year
Than the country of Italy
He said for the 15th time
As the bitter brown liquid
Ran down my throat
The herbs express a longing sense for the Milanese skyline
Or is it for the sweepings of the factory floor
When it comes knocking on your door
asking if you want some more
Baby, you know I adore you, but can we take it slow?
Two by two is my preferred rate
Three works as well
But once we get to six
You better treat me kind because you know i’ll be sick
Don’t worry though
I’ll soon be back
Woah
That one went down and brought some friends back to say hi
Ok brother, here I am
Pour me another
Who’s keeping score
Italy San Francisco
Forty oh
My old bartender
In the club where I grew up
Had the logo tattooed
On his upper arm
We’d order in silence
With two fingers on our triceps
Smile from ear to ear
Smacking our lips clear
Thought that I’d forsaken you
But how could I forget
You come back like a dad who left for cigarettes
A little older a little wiser
A spirit that shines brighter
With your absence
Someone said absinth?
Take two shots of rye
and a quarter of fernet
A dash of bitters and some syrup stir it well
Add a twist of orange
Just enough to remind us of our youth
Wormwood made our eyes water
Tickled our tonsils and made our hands sticky
To Fernet I raise my glass
Toronto’s where it’s at
Italy San Fransisco
Tel Aviv Stockholm
Gone but not forgotten
Ben Gladnikoff writes introspective radical centrist punk poetry and lyricism for the angsty middle class. He frequently collaborates with songwriters and musicians and thrives on the interplay between music, rhythm and art.
Born and raised in Stockholm, reaching adulthood in Tel Aviv, and now based in Helsinki, Ben brings his multicultural background into his writing. Drawing inspiration from as varied sources as Blues, Jewish tradition and Greek mythology, Ben explores the interplay between the worldly and the inner world.
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