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