Engorging altar wine, I face the day,

This time of year has always made me thirst;

As yet another birthday fades away

(they'd all been bad, but this one was the worst)

It started with a drummer in my head.

A summer squall came in, and down it rained;

Enticing me to crawl up from my bed

Two thousand weeks - yet not one second gained...

I preach to all those ghosts who think they're real.

Beseech the angels show my eyes the light,

Then lying on a carpet lined with steel

I pray that I perceive the answer right,

In trying to forsake the words of men.

I've eaten of a cake that must stay whole,

And smelt the holy stench of poisoned pen;

Entrenched in stifled tears to save my soul,

I drown my gasping fears in croaking song.

Emboldened by the glow of moon on heat

The book of runes declares I did no wrong;

As stronger men lay dying in the street

Communion wafers slyly gather mold.

A prayer book flies to dreams and fades away,

I scream my thanks to me for growing old;

So bold with holy wine I face the day,

A comet signs my name across the sky.

A friendly dragon claims me on his back,

We fly and aim to somewhere beyond high;

And laugh as all their altars slowly crack,

A pot pourri of God, and them, and I.