Packaging new wine in old bottles,
The still gurgling its quiet songs --
We wait for an explosion, hoping
(hopefully, O, not in vain)
That this time it will explode, that
This time there will be power, that
This time we will become superhuman.
If it works for rocks from space,
Dad said, it should work for other things
(like radiation, even if all Uncle Jeffery got
was dying in a hospital bed)
And so we're hoping that one of us
Becomes Super Stillman, so we can make
Drinks galore and become filthy rich.
I just hope that, if I am Super Stillman,
I can still get drunk on what I make.
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