Those winds out here

'Fifteen men on the dead's man chest —
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
Drink and the devil had done for the rest —
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!'

As I draw my saber and prepare my mind for the fight against the gales, i wonder why i started so late thinking in English and improving my words. Luckily or not, i've got now my rum glass and my blass telescope, sitting in the middle of the cove, feeling the salt-breeze in my hair, and the grumbles of my 'art. 

I'd love to look up in the distance and see 'Admiral Benbow' inn, waiting for me, but i prefer the sea. Always the sea. 

I'll jump into the next schooner and sail away, and fast.

Maybe some exercise make my mood better, just like my Lady. Yeah, that's the word. Exercise. Physical, mental exercise. And more rum. Always more rum; what a pity in that beach-party there wasn't Bacardi, with that black bat in. Maybe next time. 

Rum. I liked rum. Zacapa rum. White XL rum. Bacardi rum, out of my Caribbean coasts. And I liked other Rûm. Rûm. Turkish, dark savage muslim people. Rûm. Funny, had the same letters.

I want to sail away. Alone, with them. Does it matter?

I want to go back to that stoned beach and sing against the winds Be prepared, pretending to be Jeremy Irons, with a cat, and a tomatoe. I wanna go back. Maybe in September. So wake me up when september ends.

'Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!'