A black dog runs across the killing field
A charred-black scythe seeking its yield
No hope of escaping, no hope to wield
Blue sky painted red, severed head
Always searching but always in vain
No hope of recovering from that kind of pain
You try to hold it, but it will not stay sane
Squeezing the dust, gone in a gust
Merciless, tender, sweet virile gender
Something to give her, sensual bender
Holocaust of burning insensible splendor
A house crumbling from within
You cannot enter again
The sin of loving a sin