Let me lean towards the spires, The cathedrals and their masses seem to let me go. I field the work full of snow, Full of seeds, that rain to melt. I kneel in the dirt, to hope that I am chosen. Life has left me broken, upon her scars. Will God let me rain The tears, to create the stain Upon my frigid fingers Where pain truly lingers? She sold her eyes for temptation, To cure my resignation From herself, in the snow, In every low. This Hell is my spell, My desire becoming Heaven's fire. Blooming between me Is the great sarcophagus of a greater disaster. I want to lick every bone That twitches in every toe That steps on every grave, For each are my own. I have laid to rest every memory That has stained me. I have bled my own palms so gravely, That beauty has turned her head to name me. To name me a scorned disarrangement Who has lifted curse to blessing.