Psalm 4

Some semblance of skin was
rifted, who knows how it
broke so well?

A former tree became a reveler,
immersed in bloody drink,
staggered about and came to rest upright.

A noisy party ensued at its base,
at which I stayed for quite some time,
And my eyes finally fell upon
a mourner at torn feet.

There he is,
my savior-god,
a crimson pulp of man.