Wild Women With Steaknives

I commend myself to a death of no importance
To the amputation of all seeking hands
Pulling, grasping, with the might of nations
Of sirens, in a never ending bloody bliss
To the death of mere savagery
And the birth of pearly, white terror

Wild women with veins slashed and wombs spread
Singing songs of the death instinct
In voices yet unheard
Praising nothing but the promise of death on earth
Laughing seas of grinning red, red eyes
All washed ashore and devoured
By hard and unseeing spiders

I commend myself to a death beyond all hope of
Redemption
Beyond the desire for forgetfulness
Beyond the desire to feel all things at every moment
But to never forget
To kill for the sake of killing
And with a pure and most happy heart
Extoll and redeem disease