In spite of my physician,
Who in constant admonition,
Says my heart will palpiltate
And my blood coagulate
In a dirge of caffienated demolition;

Make my hands to vacillate,
My carnate temple desecrate,
Be my terminal undoing,
Each fell sip my ruin brewing,
To addle, muddle, and intoxicate.

Fuck, I say sincerely,
I live thus cavalierly,
If my organs burst asunder,
Then chastise me, Quack, and thunder,
It was meet and just to urge you so severely!

But until my urn is packed,
In a columbary stacked,
Until it is too late to bear regret,
O’er her caustic coquetry I will not fret,
And dally on, her bitter vices to extract.

Glory, laud, her rich extraction
Ripe with chemical reaction,
Viscous jet of ink descending,
Sweet insomnolency vending,
An uncouth and irresistable attraction.

If life afforded slumber,
Every moment not encumber
With a pace that ever quickens,
And a lethargy that thickens,
My limbs like lazing lumber.

If the rushing, blurring vision,
An obscene cosmic misprision,
Might ebb away, stand still,
Grant me calm amidst the shrill,
I’d not need her keen and puissant provision.

Sultry siren, how you rouse me,
Waxen and acerbic ebon sea!
So besettingly I lust
For each neuron-sparking thrust,
Your astringently licentious guarantee.