ABOUT THE KNIFE

I think well about the knife,

think, think.

For you covered with feathers,

I am permitted to be a monster.

Because of the curse of drink,

I collided with a fence, fell down,

and became a quarrelsome and desperate man

ready to jump into the fire.

My blood wouldn’t let me rest.

Mercy walked away from me.

Now, quickly, you do the same.