Paint your morning blossom cheeks
A darker shade than the night.
Poke holes in your funeral clothes, darling;
Let the angels and their hallowed ****** light
Leak from your pores like ichor.
Heaven's colors never quite reach far down enough
To make a drunken god's eyes see
In more than black and white.

And we the primordials will be pagan still
As we fix the mistakes of youth divine
That fool was too busy splicing himself threefold
To see humanity fall apart
Under the rotting crosses they erected for his sake.