The stars always seem the same, same message, same warning… love. Love generally doesn’t require that I undress my rage and wars and death and death and death will become me beneath my skin, a shell of robot parts and guilt will follow me to my loveless crypt, my fight to a photo finish. Let me begin my caress with great haste. She waits and waits and cries out to my better self. She enters in without an ounce of hate. She begins with her love and ends with her full love come calling down to greet me to sleep evermore… ~ Get to dancing, bring your guitars! Douse your scripts made of oils, our addiction! Plastic, metal, wood, rock, tree! Get our lonesome doves to groove the sky with Elvis, with Jesus set to clip our ankles and tumble this all goodbye. Love, when accompanied by hate, rape and murder of the loveliest of our flesh and blood, mere surface and bones cracking like mortality, always dies. Mortal fools made of brain lifting despicable wishes to disregard home and mother.
(The Weaver's Song)