Ricardo Echeverria - Kinda, Sorta, Maybe, Eumaeus lyrics

Before I can tell you the tale of Eumaeus, about that half-lit story with the thud of gla**es spilling with beer foam, about that dark yarn of late-night bar lore, I have to narrate the somber encounter with a certain Corley who at the end receives halfcrown by Stephen. Before I can narrate that, however, I have to speak of their meeting with a verbal charlatan versed most cleverly with the sleight of hand legerdemain attributed to those suffering from logorrhea. This counterfeit sailor by the name of Murphy tells tales taller than the tower of Babel. But before I narrate his tales, I have to tell of a certain nefarious affair tip-toeing amongst the corners of the bar, almost as if trying to creep up on you and stab you in the back. What is it? It is a mentioned of murder in the park and rumor has it, and reality doesn't, that the bar owner, Skin-the-Goat, Fitzharris might've been an accomplice. But before I can narrate you that, I have to tell you of a discussion of Italian and Spanish pa**ions, and how those of the romance language tend to avenge love through sharp tongues and knives. But before I can narrate that, I have to relate their discussion of disasters at sea, of ships storm-stranded nears beaches while curious crowds observed their demise, and Skin-the-Goat Fitzharris exclaims that maybe Ireland is a disaster at sea because England is wrecking it. But before I can narrate that, I must delve into the arrogance of father and son, the former outlining a plan for a utopic Ireland, the latter declaring that Ireland belongs to him, neither self-aware of their stupidity, both loud dreamers. But before I can narrate the specifics of such an encounter, I have to relate a throwaway fact about a certain horse winning a race, about a funeral attendee by the name of L.Boom, about an exiled politician whose downfall came just because he was dicking around. But even before I breakdown that tale of late-night adultery only suited for the ears of the most steel-hearted, I have to speak of the symbolism of imposters and disguises, of kings like Haroun-al-Raschid disguised like common man, like a certain Greek hero returning to his land, of words circumlocuting to labyrinthine the reader's attention, using written misdirection to hide in plain sight, tiring the reader's patience, draining their brain, until, finally, drum roll please, curtain rise, the show begins and now the tale of Eumaeus.