Whence light ought to drop as snow
Increase, will you? Muse us with more,
My soul yea fierce, parting by the low;
How easy is pain whilst turkey tore?

So sweet are the ripe and tender flesh,
So bitter yet sweet a cranberry top,
Give all, or more I seek how fresh,
One I eat, one I drink and one I pop.

I’ll stir a bird in homeless creed,
So please my wine with sombre words
Of the cold, the immoral in whom heed
A pleasant word from those cynical turds!

I grow tiresome of this crowd of infidels,
The people; the jokers of my existence,
Such laughter, such folk are hardly revels,
So take me, give a Devil to take me hence!

I seek a dance with dark moss on a field,
So empty. So foggy. Give Chestershire mine,
In minds alike shades walk and yield,
Shall thwart and ere they snort a line

May transport themselves from here escape,
How easy it is for this happy thought surface,
Now mind this eased shall be more than ape,
Till grief alone is my sorrow happy base,

And this we feel through our faux blood,
I take it as much I tasted my forbearance,
As much I have given it as much I know my rod,
All joys are swept, now all is but nuance.

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