[re:Stacks by Ben Foster]
I set down my cup,
you fill it up.
I drink, set it down,
you fill it up again.
We do this until we are both
laughing madly,
dancing and smiling.
Only I am too drunk to see
that you are not drinking;
that you were never dancing;
that you have stopped pouring
and we have nothing to laugh about.
How long have I been the only drunkard at the table?
Did your lips ever even touch this wine?
Did you ever even crave a sip of it?
Or was all your pleasure in the pouring
and watching me dance
and laughing?
