The day slowly starts
A sleepy hand reaches
To silence the alarm
All good intentions
In our corrupted hearts
Slave to habit teaches
Where is the harm
Low willpower inventions
Taste bud arrow darts
The tongue beseeches
Forget that pious qualm
No momentary suspensions
A Siren’s song imparts
Weakening resistance like leeches
Nerve endings lacking calm
Spiritual needs dimensions
The shortest route she charts
Our own will she quickly bleaches
A cup taken in the palm
No chance for abstentions
She quickly works her arts
Submission as she preaches
Slave to her witchcraft charm
Coffee to relieve the tensions
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