Christ and the de’il, one made flesh,
In the ash and the rubble, enmeshed,
In the sea and the air, reside,
The holy son and profane bride,
Formeth a mixture, foul and fair,
Blades of grass and strands of hair,
Seas of blood, and skies of clouds,
Beauty under dreadful shrouds,
God walks now, one crooked path,
Hand cups smoothly the de’il’s ass,
Side by side,
Most holy god and his wicked bride.
A star rise, a star fall
Build a garden, said the lord
And de’il said ‘for them the sword’
Out of birth come blood and guts
From throat and eye foul smelling pus
A simple petal shall decay
If you have yours, I’ll have my way
And thus it was god smote himself,
And made the de’il to spite himself,
Angels and devils piece a piece,
Shit and decay proceed the feast,
A star rise, a star fall
The pastor man, knows not his words
Preaching spotless mixture, wherein float turds
Turds that float he cannot see
Grey and red earth cannot be
Mead and dew, emotional slaughter
He knows not I lay with his daughter
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