Work Text:
From the rising sun, to the wilting one,
Don’t you worry?
Worry of absence and worry of me?
Meaning does not equate to intention,
And absence of intention
Does not equate to absence of meaning.
Absence of my own,
Does not equate absence of blessing.
My blessing is akin to the rising sun,
And eventually then akin to the wilting one.
So hang through your jute and sweat,
As the sun runs through its rise and wilt,
Between only you and I lies the bet,
Of the closing of the agonies and guilt
Around your neck.
Praise be the Lord,
Praise be the Heavens,
Praise be His blessing,
And swear on the rising sun,
Do you hate me so much?
Swear on the wilting one,
That you feel the necessity
To rid of which I sanctify?
To rid purity of which I have blessed you?
From the rising sun, to the wilting one,
Don’t you worry?
Do you hate me so much?
Perhaps you don’t
Perhaps you lie,
As all you sinners do.
From the rising sun to the wilting one,
Don’t you worry?
Worry about who will fuck you when I’m gone?
Because who will fuck you when I'm gone?