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 move by instinct, 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, darling

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.

Oh, 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.

Please pick wrath.

Please pick wrath.

Please pick wrath.