Comments about Cody Simpson
The Drunken Wood
On we rode through winters long, snows knee-deep,
Lands unknown and uncharted-the clouds cried,
Grey and dull. Lost in trees and limbs that weep,
We roamed fields in circles where black roses died.
Our quest we knew not: perhaps there was none.
A grail is the object of the holy fool.
We traveled where we were led by the Sun,
Tyrant in the sky with its gleaming rule.