Dripping down, drip drop, drop drip,
A balneum of thick red viscosity,
Leaves me dying at the table

Carrying the legends of frigorific reciprocity,
Of Love unto lovers,
Of Guilt unto sinners
Of fate unto suckers
Of time unto winners
Counting every pang of pleasure
I chew on and gulp down the pieces
And as the crimson glass cuts through my throat
All I can picture, of all I can gloat
Are the Lipstick scars on the glass in me,
My raison d'etre