We are all damned and we are all 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 the 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 and 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.