Glowing under the cold dead of winter

Right below the stars like wild Daphne vines

As you sob on your raft of frigid timbur

All you see in the water are your spines

All you have now is watterlogged ginger

Too far along now you can’t see the pines

You can lose your mind in the far fog now

Laughing away on that raft anyhow

 

Echoing out with your grin of cinder

Slowly to crawl back on land with the brines

Dragging your teeth you seem so much thinner

Can’t run away from your own warning signs

Chewing away at their bones like tinder

The gate to your wrath shattered to ruins

With your stomach writhing like a starved cow

Just a mass of teeth and gnawing to staw