Mood by knee by cunt I'm not praying this time Up-keeping a boiling garden Alerting none, giving no quarter Leaving a self-made prison As a lesbienne within a queer man There is no damage I will decline Up to bat, platformer trains, going Without therapy until romance appears Amidst stimulants and lathery praise Lavender wisdom Granted by flail Heathen gravitas Scratched into bread Whispering in a circus Pulling the prayer And leftovers for sacrifice