Pick Your Poison Well

Death, I can tell you pick your poison well. I'll bet on the day you carried my love away you lurked over the shelves of the potions of Hell And precisely chose the potion of hacking at lungs and motion. One single touch to his lips with your dirty, lingering trick deprived my love of his life, plunging me into terrible strife. You pick your poisons and hold my sacred love and gold. The gold of his love and life, your terrible poisons, oh how they smite.