You slogged into the party,
’cause he’d been sluggin’ your soma “pop.”
You’re had, anemically gripped, you’re near bone-dry—
He’d scarfed up the tangy sop
Can’t see the guy in the mirror, so he can be shot by cop.
And all the girls screamed as he leached; he’s parchèd,
He leached; he’s parchèd. And. . .

You’re so drained; once frothing-full with sang—it’s without you.
You’re so drained, once wet; he sipped your sang—it’s without you,
. . .out you, . . .out you.

He’s dead for seven years or so, and now he kills skylight eves. . .
Well, “undead,” you want to get technical there;
In bat form, he’s ’neath the eaves.
Chomped, you gave away your rich thick blood,
Crammed once full of Type B.
I heard some screams as he mouthed the carotids,
Mouthed the carotids. And. . .

You’re so drained, once wet; he swigged your sang—it’s without you.
You’re so drained, nice fetching pink is gone; you’re without hue,
. . .out hue, . . .out hue.

I heard some screams as he mouthed the carotids,
Soused from carotids. And. . .

You’re so drained; guy’s sopping, swigging sang from a spout—you!
You’re so drained; guy’s wretched drinking song is “Wicked* Chow’s You,”
Chow’s you, chow’s you.

Well I fear you’re no more a sanguine toter—
Your blood coursed over his gums.
And now you are sere, sec from this noisome throater,
Who’s got to lick his lips before sun comes.
Gelled, your hair is slicked with sticky rime—
Though dead. . .won’t rot; you’re with
The underworld kind. . .sink those tines in a close friend,
Dry up a close friend. Damn!. . .

I’m so drained, you get my delish sang; I’m without hue.
Corpse so drained. Some friend! You swig my sang, and I pout, blue,
Now chew. . .mouth crew.


*wick’d, not wickèd