If he is not here – fast:
Weep, mourn, tear your clothes, shout and gnash and burn
Be shrouded in sackcloth and anointed with ash. Oh, see you’re loved and turn.
Till then, flood your eyes till they are empty sore,
Abandon hope of rest, of peace of anything anymore.
Go on and silence you voice through desperation screams of, “I”
Let distortion rage and rule and reign and crush you as you cry.
The lack of him so great. But he is here – see:
Throw yourself in sweet humi