Oxen of the Sun 420-421
eleven whispers- abominable, best
allah, a bag of faith
this world of bad trumpery
like the hawk of love
it glides the long day.
who wanders the regions of fire?
inside all this seeking is
a lost angle of time
a hollow seedy war
a sin, really, against the night
did time wash the blood of the lamb?
unwell truth you see the bad in us all
will you speak some shit and
turn down our loose change?
your soul will not come to
this long, black day of judgment.
we somehow missed the glory of
this early god
we somehow forgot the precious
excess of all these false alarms.
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