thick honey, and molasses sun. slow days, sweet music in the afternoon, sweet love too.

in the dim light, in that mud fair, he gets his ass kicked.

there is no Predecessor to martyr true, simply after me, after you, who wishes to die on a cross, still fresh faced and new. fools.

is this lust? blood reached, and flesh starved, lust?

and, martyr met god of war, and fell in love, forbid however, by morality and deity

if i ascend, will you worship me?

My heart beats in time with your words, irregular and strange, but natural in blood

god extended hand for michael, but man slipped, and fell wingless to earth below