Hans Van der Lipp

Lord Jesus, I miss me Clara.  Soul of my own.  Dance with me one more time in the town square.  I says to her,

"Fanciful Clara pass me a glass,

 and fill it to the rim,

 we're not just makin promises,

that we know we'll never keep"

And she'd say, Hans , somethin or other.  And knock my noggin with the sweetest of pots and pans leavin me reelin with the clangs and echoes of adoration.  Aaaah, kiss me Clara, right in the heart of Amsterdam.  For I'm sailin off again.  And she'd beg me to take all my stuff, made sure I got it all this time, because she's a rare kind hearted woman with a fair smile and a randy fight in her.  

Right in the heart of Amsterdam.

The Reverend Johnny Roe passed along words of good fortune, meaningful things that I can't seem to remember.  A good man he is and I'm left wondering how I came to have his pocketwatch. 

And who is that on midnight watch beckoning me?  My rum soaked eyes cannot be tellin this big of a lie.  Up there on the deck, it is Clara, that can be none other than Clara, sweet Clara VanOosterhunt herself.  Clara?  Clara! 

Clara.  Oh, sweet, sweet Aaaaargh.  Always there, calling me, your shimmering presence is always in my minds eye.   Come to me, you say?  Alas!  The temptation of  booty is more than a man like me can resist, and I cannot follow you into the brine this soulless night.   .  I will swim to you my love, one day, with pockets laden with gold and silver and then me own frocks will be folded and your garden planted and your refuse dumped.  This time, I swear.

The End

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