Seven high on Newbury Grove
Cranberries a’poppin’ on the stove
Crimson juice leaking light
The red of night has struck just right
Pleasure that lies deep in the seed
Emancipate through the autumn leaves
Seers the viscous streams of taste
Tears so vicious in their haste
Fear resides but leaves the soul
Clear and triumphant as smoking coal
Alleviate through a moonlit knife
As the cranberries bring me back to life