O, how I love my blackened brew,
The way in which it sees me through
Each day, how it helps me to do
All the things I must!
I quaff my cup, and once again,
I can to others be a friend
And be one on whom they depend,
One whom they can trust.
Another cup, and I can see
How many things have come to be;
My mind's gears begin to come free
Of their encasing rust.
Then, yet one more, and I will know
How it is that things can go,
And my perceptions start to grow
'Til I can see the just
And how too many turn away.
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