God ... thoughts of death mourning a loss,
one after another, like falling hailstones cracking the tiles
of the substance of things not seen but feared. I could care less
God ... it's the longest night of my years caught in the toils
of doubts, of despair, of the sound of falling ice
that reverberates inside my faith in sudden slices
and outside this pen for sheep-raising still in fertile soil
I fail to get over the fence without a stile
Impotent to kiss resignation's toes
advocated by those who want my obedience and my tithes at all costs
A version of the interpretation of the oral traditions already translated into lies
Greeks, Romans, Monarchs, Despots, Rulers, Reformists, Stoics...
Impotent to listen to the duty of the silken stole
that pulls my crackling faith into its coils
Impotent to accept sacred writings chosen by lot
Impotent of praying more and thinking less
Impotent to breathe, to see, to walk through wind-blown salt and s i l t
measuring a time ... dark and lost
God, a profuse bleeding from a ruptured soul refusing to clot
Thoughts of death like tears of ice
when the electrocardiogram yells h h h
e p e p e
l l l p ... Where will be the lice
to suck my sins and tics?
to cough and gag and vomit my unfulfilled temptations into a cist?
My time of death has expired long time ago. Do you noticed it?
do you care about it?
Thoughts of death tickling upon my bare soles
I'll be nobody without a tag swaying from my toe
The night at its farthest point from the Sun and still so close
I need to believe it
God ... You need to believe it
I can kill you if my faith is lost