Reaping

 
The Devil no longer dwells at the crossroads 


There is only a murder of crows and the starch scent of corn rows 


A sacrifice fails to widen the rift


The moon does not give a fuck while the paradigm refuses to shift


Drawing a pentegram just makes you a foolish man caked with chalk


Standing with a useless bloody offering in a night so cold it shrinks your cock


The spirits have left the tarot, the ouiji no longer sucks marrow


Children do not fear a caravan of gypsies that are not artful enough to curse


The new age cults of blood are only faking their thirst


Six is just after five and before seven I am told


Harvesting of souls is now in corpus corporate control


Rising out of mouth holes steaming in factory grey


The competitor does not purchase that which is given away