“Olly, time to wake up,” Tom slaps my face,
“ain't going,” I say, then puke on the bed,
“Homer, Socrates and Plato are dead!”
“But it's Greece,” says Tom, “this is the place!”
But all I can see is that beech side bar
legs up to heaven, just an inch to far.
Too many drinks as I tried to impress
spouting my Greek, “Hola, me be Eng-glesh.”
Laughing at me she took hold of my hand
and off we walked, across that snow white sand,
Tom with a nod, “put a sock on the door,
I'll be OK, I can sleep on the floor!”
And I guess he did, cause I woke alone,
notch on the ladder of a Grecian tome.