Son of Ham, slave of slaves, reigned. Humiliated, but unrepentant, defiant, and unfearing, They asked for one of theirs to be king. Saul, anointed and prophesied, crowned king. David, feigned madness, fought for the Philistines.
Never let anyone tell you How ****** up a person is Pointing at Her or Him At them or here with Disdain dressed To look like despair God damns the Sanctimony of fools Black robes Far worse for the wear Let em point at me I have not a care Because just like them I am Jack the Ripper. I am St. Paul I sifted salt with Ghandi And I slit throats with King Saul I am the ****** Mary I hear the knocking on my door It may just be the neighbor A fiend looking to fix me Or to score. Either way We’ve all been here Countless times maybe more Its eternity that's calling Remember living forever? Before you were ever born? I've offered every solace I've mended every fall I’ve turned the other cheek And the pious broke my jaw My work here is near done And trust me I had a ball So shed not a tear Nor curse me to befall For soon you will be me And I will be you all.
Hark! These creatures of catacombs Furrows and the weeping ribbons Forsooth great beasts took a turn here When the mind accustoms itself to violence It bestows it….broken as the temple falling The sword by Israel's cry! Ghosts of the borderline! Ghosts of the borderline! Traumatic as hymens torn By hands unclean by demons born The ***** twas not consenting forlorn Too many nights passing to the dawn
Allow when Yosef comes, his predator expression For my milk drop flesh, he claims doth conquer The chains of slavery he forged by Irish blood Born from the veil of wedlock Out of sullen sin, between husband and mistress He took to which he hath none Purple hues adorn the shoulder Bare before the creases of blood These years could not tamper the memories
So in night shade, among the ghouls There is a hovering silver sheen Groped by the tiny digits I shall be its sheaf Psychosis the cascade of reality The distortion of time and space An all hallows eve, the sabbath of subconscious monsters The manic and depressive are the swinging of the pendulum And the ****** of thy hand is the dawn of God I fall, the intoxicating pearls down my throat Reek in my blood, Jewish blood, Welsh blood, tainted blood The dizzy fortitude to collapse Will alter the reality and silence the darkness Of faces disfigured, in death they have no stance Thus my torment hath come to end I give way, the sweep of the fall Fall onto my sword… Away from the worlds of disturb content Away from the sacred flesh scarred and mangled Away from the deep cavern of endless thought To God and to my ancestors, who saw with no eyes fit to see But see nethertheless my frail state of a tipping scale I fall onto my sword, distressed as Saul