The sweet temptation
of sour fruit.
Stired into a boiling stew,
then cooled and churned
to a golden brew.
With a cursed tongue,
I drink to you.

My search for some kind
of sacred faith,
has lead me astray
and brought me back
to watch and wait,
for the never ending pain.

For once again
I have my savior,
my mystic Jesus,
in a bottle of gin.
In darkened bars
and alleys surrounded by sin.

I sought solice
and recieved reprimand.
I sought silence
and found demands.
I sought forgiveness
and was quietly damned.

So I seek my old friends
and take the dark angels
by their hands.