Under the death of winter's leaves he lieswho cried to Nothing and the terrible nightto be his home and bread. "O take from methe weight and waterfall ceaseless Timethat batters down my weakness; the knives of lightwhose thrust I cannot turn; the crueltyof human eyes that dare not touch nor pity."Under the worn leaves of the winter citysafe in the house of Nothing now he lies.
His white and burning girl, his woman of fire,creeps to his heart and sets a candle thereto melt away the flesh that hides from bone,to eat the nerve that tethers him in time.
He will lie warm until the bone is bareand on a dead dark moon he wakes alone.
It was for Death he took her; death is but this;and yet he is uneasy under her kissand winces from that acid of her desire.
Metho - a short version of the chemical 'Methylated Spirit'.
It is also kown as 'Poor Man's Wine'
