Idol

lalalalaaaaaaaa

Flaming saint on a cross,
mechanical sun.
Nails in your fists,
and a rosewood tongue.

Trojan eyes burn
the violets you stole.
The vases are empty,
and so is your soul.

Tears all turn
to gasoline,
and fill your tank.
You fuckin' machine.

Flying above
where I used to be,
just asking for more
narco-guarantees.

Being Enlightened

Ooo, nice first post, Saturnal! I like it!

lalalalaaaaaaaa

Thanks very much.