Frosted from the outside
Ice cubes swirling inside
Floating on molten gold...
The parched throat burns
With desire, with the passage
The mind begins to whirl;
A consequence of molten gold...
History narrates the stories
Of towns littered across the globe
Founded to rape the land, and by evening
Enjoy the molten gold...
What provides the touch
Of desired numbness
Of enforced amnesia
What, but the molten gold...
Iron Maiden playing on Winamp
Screaming out with but a hint of melody
Hits my ears like a freight train
Hallowed be thy name, molten gold...
Thy kingdom come, thy will be done
Neat bottoms up or on the rocks
Give us today our daily blur
Forgive us our sins, molten gold...
The lunatic in the cold cell pleads
His last wish, the saviour's blood
Or, as five o' clock approaches
Mankind's most desired drink - molten gold...
P.S. - Forgive me, reader, for I am drunk
Poetry is not the enemy of molten gold...