Amphetamine Annie-Dog, An Anathema

And below the angel dog
Combs her hair and sings her psalms
The bombs go off
She doesn’t notice
It all goes wrong
She sets things tragic
She is venus
She is mars
She’s electric
And the struggle of

Upon my face we leave no trace
But in her stomach mercury aged

She holds the blood
She carves the knives
She digs the wives in our babies

Nuptial love maketh mankind; friendly love perfecteth it; but wanton love corrupteth and embaseth it.