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Click hereIf a man poured to his throat
The wine from within my jug
Would I then be satisfied to cut
That throat and refill it with his blood
When the deed was done
And pain had ceased
The wine would still be gone
Yet as nights go long
And souls disease
I hone my heart and brawn
As I hunger for the crack of bone
And pine for bump and bruise
I grin and bear my lack of equilibrium
And scheme and plot my rouse
I need the eye
For balance
Then a necklace made of teeth
There’s now no wine
For drunken bliss
And the blood is warm
But sweet