You'd be choking on your flame,
my son without a name,
made king of all the wastes
And forever will swallow us alive
We'll be abstracted from time
We can let the tides wash over

This is the epilogue to the introduction
Lost in the sound
Hold tight all your systematic theories
that help you to sleep at night,
but remember
that there could be no sufficient certitudes
in hell

Father, forgive them,
for they know not what they do
Mother, receive me,
cause I'm coming home to you

Does this cup run dry?

Look at what we've done again:
We wage war in the name of love,
using gold to fill the holes in your hands

Caught in the paradox
Juxtaposed between:
bifurcated black and white,
and my propensity to fail you
Caught in the cyclical narrative of violence
That invokes your name to justify genocide

They'll take everything

We traded water for salt;
something whole for something
equally as broken as us
Now, dying of thirst,
we'll write this out in blood
and shut you in a stone cold time
where the air rots out,
leaving us alone

We chose to be alone

I was given to cup
to quench parched tongues
But I became drunk
and lust lynched my lungs

Father, forgive them,
for they know not what they do
Mother, receive me,
cause I'm coming home to you

Does this cup run dry?

For they know not what they do