Shame rests in hollow circles under all of our eyes.
You stole the living air from me
and payback is a bitter banshee.

At the site of my grave
performed their bitter biopsy
diva and deviant dichotomy.

Sleep came in a vision of beauty,
she hovered over my bed,
she had her holy way with me,
and made me cum like the clergy.
She led me through a cluttered gallery,
took me by the hand and she said,
"Come here boy, stick your head between my legs
and start praying."

At the site of my grave
she had her holy way with me
for my benevolent biography.

The earth stood still, and the air fell ill,
and the sky bled acid rain for days.
Suckled, sincere, and crystal clear
like the sound of falling dirt upon
the lid of my coffin.

At the site of my grave,
she had her holy way with me,
and hung a halo on a hard harpy.

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