The serpent lays its head to rest,
Coiling to pay the price.
Lie down before the altar of your decrepit needs.
Come the tithe we pry the life from wounded soil.
Remake this graven image,
the carcass of masters lost.
But their loss was absolution.
The blood of gods drips
Through slit open throats.
And all darkness seems beyond reproach.
The idle stirrings
Of false beginnings.
Tastes of light shall part the darkened head from my shoulders.
And I will grin in defeat.
And I shall rise,
More alive than
I could ever hope before.
All I carry now is disrespect for the logic of severed heads.
Ragged breaths moaning for reprieve
Did warrant my defeat.
But now I know the truth
Of what I am.
My fate is fate no more.
I shall pry from life
what was denied,
Twice the thing I was before.
Lashes and collars fit like a noose
They took their powers born from abuse
Pry, rise, survive, thrive
No pity for the weak,
Their favorite failing
But we were never as weak as they thought.
Pry, rise, survive, thrive
Strike where you’re least expected, begin to love the multitudes.
Pry, rise, survive, thrive
Stamp out the blackened flames
That made the sorrow manifest
Come morning we shall dance,
Free from burdens that drowned,
All that was decent,
Regrowth of sweetness and light.
We shall give ourselves to life twice more,
This hydra bows to no one, now and forevermore. 3x