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.