Drink! for cold’s the weather.
The scull that roofed a human soul,
Is it not my drinking bowl?
Let us quaff together
That wine the hebrew witch did brew
Of nightshade fruit and sap of yew
Melted in the forehead dew
Of a dead man on the heather.
Drink then and be merry!
The scull that held the life of man,
Is it not our liquor can?
Well bled, o thou berry!