By: Amunet Posted on: February 17, 2012
With virulence, and with spiteful intent,
I tossed aside my sullen, empty glass,
And though the last of my spare coin was spent,
You filled it to the brim, and let it pass
Across the gleaming counter to my hand,
Where, desperately trembling, I would lift
The vessel to my lips, and then demand
You take me home with you after your shift.
Dagon, you're my saviour and my saint;
Your endless toil my elation brings
From 'neath the depths of heartbreak and constraint,
And so, it is your praises that I sing--
And for you that my lonely soul now pines,
While sup do I on melancholy's wine.