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.