I Bled On Pivotal Stretch
Like Clockwork Christ
Bears Sore Stigmata, Bored

And As I Threw Job, I Drove
Myself To Martyred Wretch
To See If I Drew Pity
Or Pretty Litanies From The Lord

So The Plot Sickened
With [bad word] Of Days
Ill Millennia Thickened
With The Claret I Sprayed
And Though They Saw Red
I Left Dirty White Stain
Splintered Knot In The Grain
On Eden's Martial Aid

So Glad For The Madness

I Walked The Walls Naked To The Moon
In Sodom And Babylon
And Through Rich Whores And Corridors
Of The Vatican
I Led Sordid Borgia On

I Read The Urilia Text
So That Mortals Wormed
As Livebait For The Dead

And As I Broke Hope, I Choked
Another Pope With Manna Peel
Dictation To Desade
In The Dark Entrails Of The Bastille
And As He Wrote, I Smote
Royal Blow To The Heads Of France
And In The Sheen Of Guillotines
I Saw Others, Fallen, Dance

I Was An Incurable
Necromantic Old Fool
Phagadaena That Crawled
Drooling Over The Past
Rabid Wolf In Shawl
Razor's Edge To [bad word] That The Stars Overall
Were Never Destined To Last

So Glad For The Madness

I Furnaced Dreams, Poet, Foe Of Sleep
Turning Sermons With The Smell
On Witchfinder Fingers
Where Bad Memories Lingered
Burning, As When Dante
Was Freed To Map [bad word] 
I Sired Schemes And The Means
To Catch Sight Of The Seams
And The Vagaries Inbetween...

And Midst The Lips And The Curls
Of This [bad word] Of World
In Glimpses I Would See
Nymph With Eyes For Me

Eyes Of Fire That Set All Life Aflame
Lights That Surpassed Art
In Sight, That No Intense Device Of Pain
Could Prise Their Secrets From My Heart

I Knew Not Her Name
Though Her Kiss Was The Same
Without Whisper Of Shame
As Either Virtue Or Sin's
And Pressed To Her Curve
I Felt My Destiny Swerve
From Damnation Reserved
To Permanent Grin..