In the still of night, Bootleggers take flight, Whisky runs through veins, Chasing dreams, breaking chains, Under stars, they fight.

Ghosts of days bygone, Whispers in the dawn, Secrets in the dark, With every stolen spark, The past lingers on.

Hearts heavy with sin, Yet they chase the wind, Through the fields they roam, Finding solace, not home, Where the shadows begin.

Old tales told loud, In a smoky cloud, Laughter fills the air, With a hint of despair, Lost in the crowd.

Bootleggers whisky run, Chasing the sun, In the twilight glow, Memories ebb and flow, Until the night is done.

When the world feels cold, I’ll return once more, To the heart of home, Where the spirits rise, In the warmth, we roam, And tales restore.

In the copper distillery, Where the past flows free, Memories twist and turn, Like the whiskey we yearn, In the stillness, we learn, Time’s sweet melody.

On a Bootleggers run