When would my urine become my wine?
How could my fries welcome my rise?
When would my dice provoke my rice?
In how many pitches could my peaches evoke my rhymes?
Does your passion need some yeast?
Would your passion be throwing a feast?
Has your passion sucked some salt?
When would your passion drink some malt?
Did your passion date the Walt?
Is she married to Walterâ€™s filter?
Did she divorce the firefighter?
The swashing flames which hosted Shadrach
Would not erode your burning Meshach
They would splash him up to higher heavens
Flow riding with upper devils
Fire alarms would I kill
Ovens would my fury feel
Plunging me into the gorgeous gorges I would fill
As Nebuchadnezzar sits still
Watching nebulae and Chad steal steel
From shoals of sweets which soothe my burning suite
When black fires burn white waters
When burnt waters purify bright altars
In the burning ocean would I be
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