Like Luther's army   And Abel's brother   I woke to find   Only to smother   And angel fat at   Satan's feast   Where falsehood, childhood   And loneliness ceased      Delicate like grief   I am rapist, well-healed   Double the echo of silence   Like a dusty dead rose   Contaminate with neglect   Every little heart   Should end up broken   And shrouded by fog      Asleep in   The stumble of autumn   The pain was calvary   Our living on   Empty!   The dead of it -   The dread of it!