Tom Bedlam's Salute

No gallant blade I swing
keen to rip the air.
Wise guy, alone, I sing
petition, praise, and prayer
-evening birds are whimpering
Do not stand and stare.
My daddy, sage, nipped down
our slippery hillside path.
He drank too long in town;
his neck cracked, which was harsh
-evening birds sped whimpering
Do not stand and stare.
I'm wisest after all,
go frolic, pound his clay
to holy night's downfall
spending his thrift away
-evening birds are whimpering
Do not stand and stare.