Wow! I'm sick of doubtLive in the light of certain SouthCruel bindingsThe servants have the powerDog, men and their mean womenPulling poor blankets over our sailorsI'm sick of dour facesStaring at me from the T.V. towerI want roses in my garden bower, digRoyal babies, rubies must now replaceAborted strangers in the mudThese mutants, blood-mealFor the plant that's plowedThey are waiting to take us intoThe severed gardenDo you know how pale and wanton thrillfulComes death on a strange hourUnannounced, unplanned forLike a scaring over-friendly guestYou've brought to bedDeath makes angels of us allAnd gives us wingsWhere we had shouldersSmooth as raven's clawsNo more money, no more fancy dressThis other kingdom seems by far the bestUntil it's other jaw reveals incestAnd loose obedience to a vegetable lawI will not goPrefer a feast of friendsTo the giant family