I can scarcely lay claim to flesh
Though it is dreamed for, wept for
And it shines like dark gems
It is the noise and the dancing,
And their joyless hearts
And all the pleasures one might have
Derelict tracts of hell
Then all these slices came through to my hands
To erupt in welcoming darkness
And it shines like streams of pain
It is the hearse and the vulture
And their swollen yarn
And all the breath to mourn them with
This is the tune of sparks,
The tone of relentlessness
The spiral scar
This is the wounds that sneers,
The trance of creedence
You are my art