When the day wears its knickers of dusk,
I can walk without leg
I can talk without tongue
I can drink without throat
Just throw me bowls of wine
The one, right from the forest
Of dying stream
But who needs streams to sanctify Satan to be a saint?
I can swim in the sea of bear
Just throw me sixty ounces:
ale, lager, whiskey, gin
My belly can drown India Ocean
But a lush needs no counsel to be drunk

Give me Everest of meat,
There are free rides to my mouth,
The tarmac of my tongue is laced slippery coal tar
To transport morsels
One just refined from the Island wild
Of pounded yam,
Forget not the toothpick
To dredge the banks of my mouth
But chicken befriends not, the meat consumers
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