Reconciliation of a Dying Drunkard

Fermenting like grapes

A paradox that saves

Like the wine from the welling sorrows

Hell has taken new shape

And with each drink we take

There's damnation for the soul we borrowed

A velvety touch

To the tip of the tongue

And it seeps deep into my blood

Soon drink after drink

As my mind dips and sinks

My body becomes a flood

I could reach to the heavens

And renounce my religions

But to what angle then would I preach

I've only taken what I've been gave, and

Dealt with what has been laden

And now hell hath my soul like a leech

So what then is there?

For the poor hopeless martyr

Who gives up his life for his work,

And how help him should he dare

To hope to pass the years further

With a drink that will numb all that hurts?

So kill this poor man

Who holds his life in his hand

Who holds the crimson liquid of his savior

Kill this poor man

For he cannot even stand

When he doesn't know what he is there for

So do any of us then

Understand safe and sin

If our lives have become sin in themselves

Will anyone win?

This supposed trip to heaven

Or will we all be damned justly as well

Kill me too then

For in false chaste I am him

I drown in the murky waters of my penitence

Forgive me my sins

For with drink I am him

The devil himself in all pestilence

Let me die let me lose

For In fighting I've proved

Nothing of myself nor my reason

I'd rather be dead assured than alive and unforgiven