it is a thirst, a lust, a desire
or sometimes a sort of tremor
akin to fear and even anger
on my tongue this acrid liquor
makes everything else taste so bitter
and lack a lining made of silver

yet there is nothing I prefer
when it finally does occur
the euphoria of it's recur
It becomes crucial to remember
when you grow weary of the voltigeur
just lend your ear to the whisperer