From the Fruit of the Womb, the Liveliness and the Fatigue

The fruit of the womb is still strong
For the firstborn in Mary's arms
Will learn the pure child's play
In gentle embraces of the world
Where that swampy and creeping water
Of that obscure existence
Washes its glutinous streams
Around the heir's expectant bones

But the firstborn
In Mary's arms
Will learn the
Pure child's play

The liveliness is a whore
For the trialed digs deep
The faithful will's spade into
The deepest dungeons of devotion
Where that will to live is being
Sucked out of human bodies
As a fee for their shortly
Lasting light-heartedness

But the trialed digs deep
The faithful will's spade
Into the deepest dungeons
Of devotion

The fatigue's eye is a friend
For the enraptured loses his meagre home
Smouldering in the embers
Of too long digging hands
Where that agony is prepared
To give a new home
Buried underneath the ruins
Of its suffocating power

But the enraptured loses
His meagre home
Smouldering in the embers
Of too long digging hands