Postmodern Love

And thus both God and Man have gone to seed
Being assailed by forces which confound
The heart, and who can say where this will lead
So in that case let it all be unwound

Come see the wheel, no longer round
As we snort out our piggish creed
Of cheap pleasure at future’s cost
While at the other end they heed
A cross-eyed angel’s trumpet sound

But seeing Kali’s tongue round Christ’s sword leaves them lost
All those poor little bleating lambs, choked by exhaust
Our odd Zeitgeist leaves both rod and staff rimed with frost

Still, it must seep from underground
That sweet essence
All its hellish glory unbound
A fell license
Still seeking the wayward soul to consume
Nothing but angel lust — gallows perfume