And wring you,
And roast you in my passions’ hottest fire.
You, North and South, you, East and West,
Shall drink the cup your fathers gave to me;
My back still burns, I bare my bleeding breast,
I set my face,
My limbs I brace,
To make the long, strong fight for mastery.
My serpent fetich lolls its withered lip
And bares its shining fangs at thought of this: