I lay on my back in the stench of your humidity
The sweat drips through our skin and I rethink my previous decisions
But, with the home-made poison clenched in my fist
I understand the sincerity of those small prepositions.
I had already decided upon our fate
Under stars that burned out at an ancient date
Someone must drink the disaster I was so hasty to create
And I realized all too late
That I could not let that someone be you.