For shame, man of God! For shame, good sir!
For the people, by the people with
sick, twisted minds they were born into and
dark evil thoughts from the Word-world. From
life and living and feeling -
up. NO! Strength. Prayer.
In the name of unholy whispers and disguises,
you had so many disguises.
Old bag. Crinkly, old paper bag.
But it's invisible and you're indecisive and
time is not going to wait, the mind is never satisfied.
Oh no, no, no, no, no!
Spirit, take over and tame thy pathetic flesh,
cure the pulsating muscle because you feel like you're going to cry,
you're going to die.
And go straight to hell like father, like son.
Ring of fire, ring of gold
on the left hand, third finger.
Oh God, oh God, oh please.
"Take this illness away from me!"
but your voice is warm on his neck and you've got shivers,
you've got shivers in your underwear and something on the leg of your pants.
Shifting grunt. It's at your ankle.
In His holy place, Holy Land.
You are not supposed to be covered in vices and lices,
turning into lies of where you were, where you are going.
"Please..." it's a whisper, a whimper in reply. And his hands are candied apple;
sticky sweat, sticky white but oh no, no, no, no, no!
This will not do. So you exhale, exhale.
Slithering, sticky snake in your pants.
Slithering, sneaky break in your plans.
And you were a corpse groom, dead at the altar,
like the monster. You are a monster.
"Oh!" Little boy, little boy.
"Oh, oh, oh!" PLEASE, little boy.
"Oh, oh!" I said, LITTLE BOY.