[b][u]The Wine That Withheld Torment[/u][/b]

The slain hangs aloft
His blood runs down
Filling my cup
Drink deep, O drunkard
Imbibe and share in this death
Trembling lips grasp the rim
Channel the wine
Swallow it down
The red runs deep
As do my tears
I was prepared for gall
My lips made ready to scowl
My soul was ready to suffer
This wine must needs be bitter
This body must writhe in displeasure
So the act of drinking itself
Becomes an act of penitence
Tell me then, you who hangs aloft
Why is your wine sweet?
Why do you deprive me
My most just torment?