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