Seven rounds later and I’m stilt-legged, staggering
Past facades and fading fast –
Christ, I’ve lost them
Somewhere between the Septim and the Centra.
Lads, lads, you know I can’t swim!
I swear I’m sick of seeing now,
Everything’s septic and looks swallowed.
But I suppose the sky is clear tonight
It’s safer off the streets, the waves
Will call everyone back eventually.
Lads, lads, I’ve learned how to swim!