Red cross women hunch below
The thoughtless mannish moon
Yet her true love won't resist to kiss
With lips like broken wounds
The smut storms of our odium
Still cling beneath her nails
No godsend in the morning
A wretched set of sails
Weeping softly
A whisper to the ear
In lies of desperation
The truth will still appear
There's wisdom in it's sorrow
There's triumph in it's grief
And humiliated love between
My mother's ruined teeth
The transparent liquid fiction
Runs the rupturеs of her cheeks
And a raw electric еnergy
Does murmur us to sleep
A hundred years of bondage
And we the idle spores
Now degenerate her muscles
As she scratches at our door
Love is a rubber bone-saw
Love is a wooden vein
Love is the thought of something else
In brief reliefs of shame
Love is what we make to call by name
Love is what we make to call by name