We are damned and we are dead


all god·s children to be sent


to our perfect place in the sun


and in the dirt




There·s a windshield in my heart


we are bugs so smeared and scarred


and could you stop the meat from thinking


before I swallow all of it,


could you please?




Put me in the motorcade


put me in the death parade


dress me up and take me


dress me up and make me


your dying god




angels with needles


poked through our eyes


let the ugly light


of the world in


we were no longer blind


we were no longer blind




Put me in the motorcade


put me in the death parade


dress me up and take me


dress me up and make me


your dying god




Now we hold the "ugly head"


the Mary-whore is at the bed


They·ve cast the shadow of our perfect death


in the sun and in the dirt.