Oh Lord,
What's going on?
The binding hands are working over ribs and gums,
the bile surges into everything,
the stomach stuck.

Did you command yourself to leave me to my mercy?

Had you offered me a son to sacrifice I would have done it without falter,
through fear,
Not through trust.

My God, My God, why have I abandoned you?
Is it that you died another death
More lasting than on Calvary?

I'll be fucked if I know.



No words
No music
No heart

Just the thoughts
as usual
Of Arthur Schopenhauer
And the
Soul of Gordon Comstock

Drunkenly he prays
"Let's cut a deal,
You show me you and I'll do your will"

And curses,
As his words turn damp with rain.
"I never wanted anything but God"


Angrily, relenting to the flood,
"Drown me then, for all the sense it makes
To carry on.
Drown me, in punishment or love,
And find your glory in this beggar I've become."

But listen: it lies beyond a mortal to comprehend
How you find such satisfaction in such pathetic ends.

Well...

Thine be the glory, forever in terror,
Amen.