He Is Here, He Is Not Afraid
We move by instinct, darling
Let our hands be hatchets
Let us wander blindly, swinging madly
In a forest made of flesh
We move by instinct, darling
Let our eyes like lepers drive
The doubters from our homes
And into the bottom of the sea
And we speak in signals, darling
Let our smoke stitch pictures
Let us twist in patterns
Dull the horror of a city still on fire
For we are like medics
Handling suicide by cyanide with bleeding fingers
Let us suffer completely inadequate
And we move like lovers, lover
Let me run my fingers down your side
And kiss you right below the eye
We sleep with shadows
But we never give them bread
Horror, dress yourself in shame
Or I will tear a hole in you, you harlot
Burn your eyes
I will hold your white-washed bones unto the sky
And scream: Oh God, if you are there
I hold this body to your judgment
Give it your wrath or your mercy
But please pick wrath