Through the stately streets of Clear Water
Where the oil lamps lit the way,
Steadily stumbled a mighty man
With a jug tilted to his face.
His dress was that of nobles
With coat, boots and blade.
His body was a veteran brawler,
And his hair was iced by age.
He parted the oaken doors and entered
The jolly old Gentlemen’s Club.
The blazing hearth chased out the cold
with the smell of fine tobacco that he loved.
He strode with purpose through the tavern
Where he was known to spend his time.
He meant to stop only for a moment
To refill his jug with wine.
Yet, he stayed for all the patrons
Who sang praises to his name,
And he longed for tender wenches
And the comfort they once gave.