i taste the spirits in the plant
a blue and warming paradox
soaked in acid, cooled on rocks

i feel the spirits in the starch
heark'ning to the victory march
of a century buried in snow

of the grape, spirits i know
i'm calcified a hue of violet
give my mind to autopilot

i love the spirits in the hops
afloat on bubbles to the tops
plenty left yet somehow scant

succumb to spirits, getting wetter
make your own one all the better
lose yourself in what we make
rejoin them upon your wake