Around both hands we slide the gloves of God And walk into the surgery Performing miracles. Our taps for wine are parching great rivers The sky will not refill. The stag Ignored will thirst for drink. We ever prey on Nature's tender loins To feed the gut that never cloys Even gnawing the bones. Guarded the woods we barge into which secrets Gone will not regain. Now reigning are Godlings with no repentance.
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