There's not a prayer in the world In any sect or any tongue Holy enough to be answered to undo what's been done The urge to recoil and strike swells like the tide This classic position A beginning which looks like the end It lingers to sting Abscess and canker Swollen decay Lusting forever The most wretched of flypaper thoughts race across the mind as the moan like a whore Their only love is to linger and sting And swell by feeding on the hurt they bring You won't live through this