Family's forever,
love is blind.
Death's forever,
they are blind.

A woman married to her all
used to sleep at her alter
living off his almighty presence and body.
     But Hubby needs others like her.
Neglected, but faithful
she genuflects and doesn't look into his eyes.
     Or else she'd see the Wall she venerates.

The Man proclaims safety and miracles,
sanctity the modest Man boasts about.
Miracously, He speaks through His achievements,
a mouth far too foul for mints.
In his infallibillity,
Hes too importanter four grammar
too screwed to be hammered.
The Man influences like Sun to currents,
He has turned her family against her.
She's trapped in her own Church
and there's no urge
     to escape anymore

This Church plays mental games
     bullying her more than being called a whore.
Depression's the cancer they say
her body's the liar they say
     can they not see themselves when she takes off the wig?
     is she the Church's sacrifice to the Man?
They slay the woman but there are no wounds,
they enslave the woman but there are no chains,
they isolate the woman but she is sought
by soon-to-be mourners
     her beloved family members
this Church believes only in the Son, the Daughters, and the Man.

The woman loves Him, THEM, indeed
all she ever wants is to lie by their side
all they want to do is to lie for their side
and she will lie by their side,
     definitely, just not indefinitely.
Their hide's made up of extinct excuses
The excommunicated, US, pray that the days
stop painting her skin paler
before her face's everclear
and we douse our memories in that igneous polish remover.

The Church's a blind carrier
taking its hostage into the mouth of death.
     In fog there's even a slight trail,
     In darkness there's intuition,
     In their dazed, infernal abyss 
          there's a faint mirror
          a portrait
          of open hands waiting to be warmed.