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letra de of the wound - christian death

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the cross pulled from his chest
raises a welt, leaden in every limb

sleep can watch for seizures

the legless man had directed him to a window
window like blind eyes probed the mud
the minutes that were left
ran across his throat stuffed with cotton
and his mouth could hear the distant splashes

a fever and his hand is worse
in the silent film days

he must remain an enigma

they climbed three flights of stairs to the night
like a hundred pieces of gl-ss
there were numerous outstretched hands throwing shadows,
a pair of shadows
holding the three cornered hat of a cardinal

we move on to snake venoms

christ would spit on you
and that’s who you remind me of
beneath a musty green
the wound appears to be dying

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