Slumbering through the burning desert, total lack of liquid   Oh gods of this place, please bring me thy vine   I could almost drink the blood of Jesus   I would dry his veins until he fell down in a pile of skin      I fell down out of exhaustion,    my face met the ground my mouth was filled with sand   And my skin was boiling from the sun   The vultures stared circling above me,    I was almost ready to give my body to the birds of doom   Lay myself to rot in the burning sand fields, I was dying....      ...but then, a mighty dark shape rised before me    and gave me shelter from the sun   It was a god - the god of them all,    and indeed he had brought a bottle of vine... the blood of himself   He spoke a distant language and granted me the bottle   I received it with my shivering pale hands... I drank the vine,    and as I steadily came to myself   The god slowly vanished with the dust,    except that of him which he had left in the bottle.