The things the stories say that I’ve done
I would never confirm – no! – never repeat;
Alcohol breath and vomit stains haunted by the sun,
The “me” by daylight does curse me;
If the good ones are the ones who die young,
Before long, death by truly living, I foresee.
To make the city bow down for the night is demanding
So far though, the body does recover somehow – outstanding.
So, I don't know exactly what you wanted. From Eurotrash Girl, I basically just gathered that it was about a guy flying by the seat of his (probably STD infected) pants -- going from place to place doing whatever the hell he wanted. Which is basically how Byron lived. So I just tried to write a stanza that talked about that kind of lifestyle. And it was really fucking hard. I have mad respect for Byron right now.
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