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.