By the Egyptian Gate
I wait in my penance vest
I've never been so lost before
so I can't help myself possessed
I want to be torn through
the material of your flesh
Your husband lies unconscious
on Samuda's precipice
I drink in the dead night air
and your astringent kiss
She's slovenly lovely
he's a moth over opium
so long time stone cold sober
now marked down for delirium
her perfume draws his blood out
and back to this asylum slum
One man, one woman
walk around Newington Green
the worst case of resemblance
in N16
I hate having to desire you
hate feeling this again
I hate having to desire you
in common with other men
My fellow-creature-gods look out
to be mutually blessed
this therapeutic age leaves them cold
so fashionably distressed
but I just want to be torn through
the material of your flesh
