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.