A sentence to end him
The word became cold flesh on a noose
The gallows his picture frame


I'll talk to god about the souls I've pulled out
Run my fingers through their hair


Tyrants of meaning
Monopolies of beauty

Even flowers are black at night

I'll make my morals from the bottom up

Sweet depravity my god
My only power not in a word


He smiled all the way down
The punch line silenced
Read his scars like a psalm