What rock has wrought.
Burning like silver
in children's mouths.

Rooftop visions sear
like love. Darkness
makes the music
grow. Words become as
sacred as scarabs.

Ambition naked & brutal
as the mourning sun.
Eyes cleansed by the solvent
of new morning. The girls
screams sound like gulls
at the sea's harvest.

The singer, boots rotted,
features blasted
by the logic of fame
found dead
on the cold reptile floor
of a comfortable bathroom
death.

What rock has wrought.
Burning like silver
in children's mouths.
The toll taken at the gate.