A chalk face    Of a dead son of god    Reflects on a blank stare    Of his dead servants    Populating this deceived necropolis    That still thinks it lives       Let all sons    Of our inhumane father    Claim rights for a synthetic chalk face-on    As ancestors    Of the black art and worse    Give-aways for a swine head       No son of god has missed    A chance for earthly love    No son has ever missed a chance    For love with daughters of Eve    ...or those of the first wife of Adam       A chalk face    Of a dead son of god    Blushed with pious for taste of blood    And sweat    And semen and passion    Behind the kiss of the one he adorned       If you'll be his servants    Then let us celebrate    The first and the only true    Christian marriage    Of a prohet and a prostitute       No son of god has missed    A chance for rebellion    No son has even missed a chance    For rising against his father       ...and not refute the gospel of truth to hank    As reminded of when we are drunk    Of thick smell of love    Panting passages of arcane hours    In our high mass in the dark       And a choir of latex-nuns    Exalts to crescendo before    Languid embrace of dawning revelations       Three art race of QBL    And of angels fallen    And of witchery and sword    And of Tartarean abodes    Night, unknown, chaos