Our Father,
who art in heaven
Mother Earth,
who art in Hell.
Burnt to ash,
ready Armageddon
Watch the sky
where angels fell
Zipper-mouths pulled tight
as the Cross passes the way
Carnal masks shimmer light
As sludge engulfs the day.
Vicious, vicarious crows of blackened ember
Cawing and moaning; devilishly romantic
The touch of fingertips on lips I remember
Left her womanhood wet and frantic.
Unchained desires that surely are satanic.
Those hours in confessional amongst lying sycophants
Console weeping eyes and tarnished souls
Elected “Saints” stand tall with hypocritical blather
Condemning children with eyes like burning coals
“But virgins taste sweeter,” as the angels say
With sins like spices which season raw meat
But innocence-takers hide beneath crimson beds
Sitting atop thrones as stewards to God’s seat
Will those that fall, eventually rise?
All creatures tempted by tangible discord
Would we disobey the Grand one’s design,
If we follow the path that derives from the Lord?
Samaritans run extinct in the iron fire roads
And jukebox ****** priests play The Doors
Demon-eye coffee, dark like oily foes
I sip and read about the murders in the Moors
Devil executions fuel the jungles outside
Angels Abandoning service to kids like me
Fixers and hitters of the skid south side
Shouts from the shadows, “Hey, Nothing to see!”
Violent red dresses accompanying long limb girls
Spreading legs for daddy and **** daddy do’s
Magic hallucinogens showing circles and swirls
In faces under hoods and sky-crying moods
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 10:13 PM UTC
Our Father,
who art in heaven
Mother Earth,
who art in Hell.
Burnt to ash,
ready Armageddon
Watch the sky
where angels fell
Zipper-mouths pulled tight
as the Cross passes the way
Carnal masks shimmer light
As sludge engulfs the day.
Vicious, vicarious crows of blackened ember
Cawing and moaning; devilishly romantic
The touch of fingertips on lips I remember
Left her womanhood wet and frantic.
Unchained desires that surely are satanic.
Those hours in confessional amongst lying sycophants
Console weeping eyes and tarnished souls
Elected “Saints” stand tall with hypocritical blather
Condemning children with eyes like burning coals
“But virgins taste sweeter,” as the angels say
With sins like spices which season raw meat
But innocence-takers hide beneath crimson beds
Sitting atop thrones as stewards to God’s seat
Will those that fall, eventually rise?
All creatures tempted by tangible discord
Would we disobey the Grand one’s design,
If we follow the path that derives from the Lord?
Samaritans run extinct in the iron fire roads
And jukebox ****** priests play The Doors
Demon-eye coffee, dark like oily foes
I sip and read about the murders in the Moors
Devil executions fuel the jungles outside
Angels Abandoning service to kids like me
Fixers and hitters of the skid south side
Shouts from the shadows, “Hey, Nothing to see!”
Violent red dresses accompanying long limb girls
Spreading legs for daddy and **** daddy do’s
Magic hallucinogens showing circles and swirls
In faces under hoods and sky-crying moods
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