Who knows if there is depth to me at all
who cares about my pain and tries to fix
My broken self; who knows that I will fall
in love with who I meet on river Styx.
Who knows that Aphrodite is a fraud
who saw me give my life to such a fake
who listens to me sing; who is my god
my goddess with the love that I would take
who dares to make herself a sweetened wine
who pours herself; who wants my hands to care
for her container when it slowly tips
who tastes her wine in fullness on my lips.