my father cleanses his sins in the washing machine
black shirts sucked and drained of evil by the infernal women he meets under the moon
my mother sits under the same moon
with a bottle in one hand and his heart dripping with blood in the other
the god my father prays to betrays him in the limelight
whilst Kalis presence positions us all
my heart has turned sour from this exchange
perhaps i never learnt to love or perhaps the only way i can love is through the destruction of anything holy
a sac-religious urge runs through my blood
this is how trick them into worshipping us
