You gouge the right eye of your infants   And seat them high on a cloud   To gaze at one hand of your savior   Is their ignorance what you’re so proud of?   You condemn the rind of an apple   As obstructing your conscience so white   You curse every rib of that first wicked soul   But pity yourself for your providential plight      I want fruit in my garden   A tart behind my wife   I want hell below heaven   I want death with my life   Isn’t the option beautiful?      You admire your children’s sheltered virtue   But they haven’t yet raced through the dust and the heat   Don’t mistake innocence for purity   I say put them on trial, cast them out on the street   Let’s watch their superior reason   Compete with new appetite   I’ll gamble my chips that they’ll side with the devil   This is a fascinating sight      I want fruit in my garden   A tart behind my wife   I want hell below heaven   I want death with my life   Isn’t the option beautiful?      Carnal tongues flashing in a whirlwind of passion   A perpetual complacency   Coveting chattel in spite of the means   A commune in landscape so green   Thick, juicy venison, straight to the ventricles   A mind and a body so clean   Jealousy driving to injure or kill   A temper eternally serene      I want fruit in my garden   A tart behind my wife   I want hell below heaven   I want death with my life   Isn’t the option beautiful?