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High on the flesh

Of the knell and the psalm

Drunk on the blood

Of the funeral

Ridden by lust

And sepulchral thirst

I come dressed in hunger

And the trauma of birth

Sun of maggots

Decay is my light

My breaths are all anthems

To the moth and the mite

The whore is dead

I fall down to pray

And to celebrate death

As the god of our faith

There it is again

That putrid smell

Could Belinda have been right?

But then again, so is hell

Rotting bosom

Her stench is my church

Her shell shall serve as pulpit

Until reclaimed by the earth

Lifeless altar

A fresh cross of bones

Her cold flesh shall be my voice

Until the worms bring her home

High on the breath

Of the slip and the fall

Fuelled by the yolk

Of the burial

Black and blue creed

On a hymnal of skin

To re-school the clergy

That to breathe is to sin

A song through the holes

Where the eyes have been

To convince the council

That to die is to win

High on the flesh

Of the knell and the psalm

Drunk on the blood

Of the funeral

On wings of ash

And wild pallbearer mirth

Soaring on the cool breeze

Of yet another stillbirth

There it is again

That livid hue

The wind is growing stiffer

But then again, so are you