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By Emmanuel Williams

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The wine is thy friend

Said my friend once again

From his heart, this refrain

As his chest lay bare slain

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He drew from his chalice

With gladness, with malice

With practice

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And spit from his tongue

As there never was one

To filter once word had begun

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He lay slain by those witches

Those bitches

Those spirits

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Who claim men for sport

His retort and report

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Be he mighty or simple

He is but mere pupil

To pain only witches conjoor

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Demure, in fur, and in dimple

She craves him, not loves him

As victim, as symptom

Their tool; their liquid: elixir!

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Drink it once, shame on you

Drink it twice, shame on witches

But three times, you do seek the spirits

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Possession! Possession!

You Vessel! You Vessel!

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For he was one too

But he only had two

I said it was witches,

You fool!

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