Grind the root, dry the leaf, Measure mercy, measure grief. Sap runs thick, resin black, Every cure can turn and crack. Mortar sings, pestle grinds, Sap and salt and bitter rind. Root and resin, ash and oil, Every cure is earned in soil. Dose and fuse, flame and brew, What I make decides what’s true. Heal or burn, stop the spread… Dose and fuse decide the dead. Nightshade breath, foxglove sleep, One drop shallow, one drop deep. Seal the cork, mark the sign, Poison walks a razor line. Copper burns, the toxin wakes, Every brew a risk I take. Stitch the wound or burn it clean, Mercy’s line is thin, unseen. Dose and fuse, flame and brew, What I make decides what’s true. Heal or burn, stop the spread… Dose and fuse decide the dead. Stir it slow, don’t rush the turn, Watch the color, feel it burn. Too much mercy, rot runs free, Too much flame kills what could be. Every cure’s a loaded choice, Measured hand, unwavering voice. Bomb in hand, tincture drawn, End the night or push the dawn. Herbs for breath, fire for rot, Mercy’s sharp and mercy’s hot. Belladonna, rot and bloom, Light the wick, clear the room. Bomb or balm, they share a name, Just different ends of the flame. Dose and fuse, flame and brew, Tincture or bomb, poison or antidote, Smoke or salve, cure or end… Dose and fuse decide the dead. The dose is brewed, The fuse is lit. The poison cures, What mercy can’t.
