The old man spoke ever so gently
and placed his arm on Pete
"I create the pain, but I make it go away"
Reached for a small glass vile
Hands withered by miles
Drew a knife from it's sheath and fixed his eyes on Pete
The blood flowed from his veins into the clear siphon
His face turned white with pain, but pleasure too was rising
"Take this Pete and come, we've a city to breach
before your sister's gone, to places we can't reach."