Look into my eyes he tells her. I'm gonna say goodbye he says yea. Do not cry she begs of him goodbye yea. All that day she thinks of his love yea. They whip him through the streets and alleys there. The gormless and the baying crowd right there. They can't get enough. Of that doomsday song. They can't get enough of it all. Listen. Listen to the whores he tells her. He fashions paper sculptures of them. Then drags them to the river's bank in the cart. Their soggy paper bodies. Wash ashore in the dark. And the priest stiff in hate. Now demanding fun begin. Of his women dressed as men. For the pleasure of that priest. Here I am. Not quite dying. My body left to rot in a hollow tree. Its branches throwing shadows. On the gallows for me. And the next day. And the next. And another day. Ignoring the pain of their particular diseases. They chase him through the alleys. Chase him down the steps. They haul him through the mud and they chant for his death. And drag him to the feet of the purple headed priest. First they give you everything that you want. Then they take back everything that you have. They live upon their feet and they die upon their knees. They can work with Satan. While they dress like the saints. They know God exists for the Devil told them so. They scream my name aloud down into the well below. Here I am. Not quite dying. My body left to rot in a hollow tree. Its branches throwing shadows. On the gallows for me. And the next day. And the next. And another day