He wants to marry me
in all of my poverty
so I put my glad rags on
skipping to the words of the gun

He wants to marry me
then to take me to Blackheath
there he wants to beat me
beat me close to death

Let the bells ring out
for he wants me beaten
he wants me to bleed
crimson joy falling from my sweet mouth

He wants to hate me forever
so he gives me a ring of barbed wire
then he smiles like the Devil
and beats me up again


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

151
1 I was small among my brothers,
and the youngest in my father’s house;
I tended my father’s sheep.

2 My hands made a harp;
my fingers fashioned a lyre.

3 And who will tell my Lord?
The Lord himself; it is he who hears.*

4 It was he who sent his messenger
and took me from my father’s sheep,
and anointed me with his anointing-oil.

5 My brothers were handsome and tall,
but the Lord was not pleased with them.

6 I went out to meet the Philistine,
and he cursed me by his idols.

7 But I drew his own sword;
I beheaded him, and took away disgrace from the people of Israel.