The Betrayal

Though I've returned with my head hung low
and my palms pressed flatly, upwardly together,
in due time I plan on leaving again
and when I do my fingers will fold to form a gun
and flip to fuck a chorus of pussies
who still answer to that brilliant thought
that revealed itself to them in third grade.
What was it again?

In this church the clocks have stopped
while her bedtime tongue hits my ears undeciphered
and my hands send "silk" to my heart
before the "skin" to my brain
and I know these whispers betray my alchemy
and my new religion can set us back centuries,
but I'm not coming back
I'm not coming back until i can take this with me.