You flew too close to the sun my friend.
I'll tell you a secret. We worshipped
the sultry burn of liquid wax.
Praised how it dripped with the callous
uncertainty of a blood transfusion.
A candle light vigil plus an orgy.
It's always summer in the hell you made for me.
The sheer cold of sixty five degrees drove me mad.
All I can see are clay skinned women nursing
their babes with odious and bitter sweat.
Not even the devil would come
for a visit to this blistered land.
Fail me the way man failed to define evil.
It was my fault for putting the match in your hand,
God's fault for giving the Angels wings, and
your fault for being born on the wrong world.