Alle-lujah Uisge Beatha

Yes i think it’s love

The way

The whisky lay

Within the crystal glass

And how it reaches out

and radiates

and saturates

The oxygen it lacks

Ignites the nose

When held too close

Wreaks havoc

When held back

Then tempts the tongue

That wells in turn

And meditates

and salivates

Before it starts to burn

What of the throat

And how it coats

In a wave of

cleansing fire

And alights the chest

Where it rests

And illuminates

and palpitates

That stubborn, sacred core

Before too long it shivers

Down amidst the liver

Oh, alle-lujah

oh, uisge beatha

Yes, I think it's love

The way

the whisky lay

Within the offal altar

And how it reaches out

debilitates

Annihilates

All hope begun to falter

Maybe that explains

The way

I fall to pray

To nothing I could name

But silence that echoes

Like sinners in limbo

Sighs in an empty quaich

And why

in moments I crave

A tender face

Or a nothing that could heal me

I reach out my hand

And pour a dram

Of all those things

That destroy me