Quiver in the tallow as salt begins to pour,
the taste of it is far from clean
and you yourself don’t look so pure.
The muck and monstrous improprieties
have left flavored scents about,
nothing satisfies the lust and varieties so much as going without
In this endless ocean of wanton disregard,
it’s always easier to give in,
then fight as needed and so awfully hard.
Eventually it all catches up
and time will slip from past to present,
you will find your just deserts as it plucks away at your presence.
Never is a long-term thing,
an entity like infinity,
but cast your hopes on it to happen
and likely you’ll find a hoarse voice with which to sing.