The Unclean
I say you come at me
Like an oily cloth at dishes,
As if to be unclean
Is to be obscene, seditious,
So caked with love and dreams
And ambitions that you’re compelled to brutality.
As the voice of the Unclean, I will sound and sound obscene.
I say you smother me
Like an ugly cloak and ermine,
A weighty costuming
Of your oily own ambition
That guttered blood congeal
In a crusted, unflowing, finality.
As the voice of the Unclean, I will sound and sound obscene.
Something comes alive, oh, I know by twisting, turning that I can make this different.
Stoke the open fire, throw skyward ambition’s burden. ‘Cause I can’t take this, I can’t take this.
Can’t take the clamp and clink
Of the metal binding brace.
Can’t take the damp and stink
Or the offal of this place.
Can’t take duplicity.
And my condition offends the Supremacy.
A condition I’ve achieved and I require but you perceive to be unclean.
Something comes alive, oh, I know by twist and turning that I can make this different.
Stoke the open fire, throw skyward ambition’s burden. ‘Cause I can’t take this, I can’t take this.