In the clamor of the tavern, whispers swirl like smoke.
"What was the recipe?" she asked, as shadows danced.
Echoes of laughter trapped between cracked glass and rust.
Do not drink the shadows, for they intoxicate.
And the barrels groaned—a suffocating melody
of time steeped in twilight.
Were they ever here?
Forgotten yeast whispers secrets that peel away—
like memories of a once-lucid dream.
Sour and sweet, like blood on the moon.
Collective unconsciousness submerged,
patiently painting the insides of mugs
as visions swirl like hops in neglect.
Madness is but a sip away...
Tread carefully!