So I’m your poison that you gladly drink,

the bitter harvest in which you have reaped

the rewards of conquest and now the trace

of almonds, the shade of night,

the cold touch of stout fast Oak and

velvet caress from the cyanide in which you

say you have taken from me

is all but an urge to be a martyr

on your part for not agreeing with you.

 

I am your poison

 

But you may as well scamper with Napalm