well, just in time to bring this one back smile

belladonna opaline
© 2003 John Voorpostel

walking streets of paris, night smells on the breeze
tired for days of what the camera sees
met a denizen parisian, he offered much more
at the end of a dead end place on a short street with three doors
follow the green fairy, she’s got something to please
guaranteed satisfaction looking up from your knees
pointed off somewhere vaguely behind the boulevard st germain
I finally found it at the end of an alleyway

travelling to a place, that inner space, that infinite scape
whatever you want it’s bright inside your mind
its a wonderful place, that inner space, that infinite scape
a searcher’s paradise it will open your eyes

there was a grey green doorway, outside hung a sign
sugar cube on a perforated spoon weathered by time
I walked in and saw candles, light a collective binge
self indulgent lovers of the green fairy absinthe
everywhere there was ritual, a favourite way
for bohemian abandon, there was even nightshade
I poured it in, drop by drop, my fairy turned opaline
in one shot I swallowed the float in my dream

travelling to a place, that inner space, that infinite scape
whatever you want it’s bright inside your mind
its a wonderful place, that inner space, that infinite scape
a searcher’s paradise it will open your eyes

I got talking to the painters, of many years ago
even spoke into the severed ear of vincent van gogh
a poet interjected ‘bout his misunderstood muse
said its not about the wormwood but the 160 proof booze
even while he cursed the drink, he tightly embraced his absinthe
went to lie upon his death bed to repent all his sins
he looked into my eyes and said this much I know
the places belladonna takes you, you were never meant to go

travelling to a place, that inner space, that infinite scape
whatever you want it’s bright inside your mind
its a wonderful place, that inner space, that infinite scape
a searcher’s paradise it will open your eyes

early morning paris, night smells on the breeze
been walking all night searching to set my mind free
its never been like that first time behind those three doors
that touch of belladonna makes the green fairy soar
grant me some her potion, absinthe and nightshade
some will tell you its the devil’s drink, but to the green goddess I pray
for belladonna opaline, its my only relief
I strain to hear its whispers on the paris night breeze

If writing ever becomes work I think I'm going to have to stop