To hell with him, they say, and maybe I deserve it - a bitch on his two feet
while in a ditch lies a man who was more perfect than me. The worst of all crimes,
all jealousy and no justice from a hunter who hunts for more than he can eat.
I heard it was about love, about the one we both fucked, bloody and raw
with nails dug deep - they'll paint me down as the bitter whore, the lustful beast,
bucking his horns in anger at defeat. A simple story. Or - too full of pride,
think me sapling green when god spoke from the sky and took me for a lesser man
without the soft red carcass lamb. Couldn't stand being mortified, as if the shame
would go away when the better man died. Let me go back to god - fucking god! -
all heavenly blessed in white, and all within his rights to test my faith, throw shit
in my face and wait for me to cry. Say we're all the same, but I've never seen him play
this game with any mister mighty and high. But let me turn away from god -
it was never about him, it was about the rock. They'll ask where I got the idea,
how I came up with something so awful and clear, so beyond understanding it
that maybe the devil had a hand in it, showed me in steps like a slide reel
the cursed concept of man's first kill. Let me tell you now - I never saw the devil.
He never showed me how. Everything was perfectly still. I was a rock, unfeeling,
with no concept of hurt or healing. I was unspeaking and nothing but a tool
for violence, waiting for the hand on my back. When it came, it lifted me up -
for a moment, flying - old soil shaking off my feet - fresh sunlight on my cheeks -
before I came crashing down on a fucking skull, ransacking temple and crown,
spraying his fucking brains on the ground, onto the earth where I have always stood,
where I withstood everything, every pain, and understood nothing all the same.