Cloak of red and bread, pasted to every followers tongue.
In its dissolving nature it clings its wafer thin spirits to the gut , and in its turn hides the hell in all of us,
if only for a momment.
That's when our pregnant minds tinge the skins pigment and frails the flakey nails into yellow pixles of light,
chains of gold fall in handfuls and glass tears form the 5 stations,
as the T statue crosses over onto yet another red cut neck, dangling from soul to soul, mouth to mouth cursing the pursed lips of every hypocrite.
As the "sane man" fathoms passions clear, through his glass balloon,
as the "perfect daughters" of the world prepare one last meal for their families.
The sugar is placed in every cup and drank by its believers.
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