No God but God knows who is getting it
That I do not intend this to be took
Esoterically like gnostic ****

By closet caved in men for men unfit
Convicted of the conscious call to book
No God but God knows who is getting it

That now as then a higher hand can hit
Than kings full of queens with the turn to look
Esoterically like gnostic ****

Some poet bet his pen on risky writ
When faced with faces royally mistook
No God but God knows who is getting it

How a queen by the river must have sit
Baiting me to bite that off the hook
Esoterically like gnostic ****

All in all I rather would be bit
Than muck the cooler cards to such a crook
No God but God knows who is getting it
Esoterically like gnostic ****

Your gaze you fixed upon the stainless blade,
Unsheathed and raised, reflecting back the eye
Which locks itself in this impassive buy
With whispers telling how the ransom’s paid.
Confusing how the bloodshot in the glade
Mock offerings with flame but coldly lie
On altar acceptably bound to die
Like the frigid pure the Egyptians slayed
To bless the flood when cows and crops went dry,
And feed the god the gore to satisfy
The starving sense it lived to bring this aid.
You discern the image the gleam has made
As a sphere flushed in vein of rushed reply
That sleepless eye will sacrifice for trade.

From here I saw her bathing stun the view,
Where there a vessel floats across the main,
As I preside this kingly able Cain
Nakedly framed for beauty blessed new.
I down my guard to let her close and through
The suspect gawkers guessing at the gain
For any name related to my reign
Accepting of the spirit proving true.
Flesh to tame and taste for the tempting fill  
Of satisfied suits set but to obey
Finally the song of one crown and line.
I stand forever first accused of skill
To proximate where and how front today
Is laughed behind- to mock these stones by mine.

By my black soul, I swear the hurt to you
My defiant flaunt inflicted boasts no
Honored place in my conceit. It is low
In stature set as every nail knew
To be driven by my self-****** heart through
Submissive feet. Inverted was the bow
When the God in place put goat, who with blow
Of devised pipes prevailed the motley crew
To keep the seat. Apollo being true
To God challenged on the odd, even so
Proposed to sing and backwardly to flow
The music sweet. Marsyas from the view
Bowed his head in dread of pain to ensue
From the God exacting torture dropped slow
On a tree of no retreat. Out to mete
Nails in feet to cause a stream that I know
Reminds you how this flask I am serves two-
And one the God I beat- from skins of Pete.