Cold orphan, cold earth

Cold orphan, cold earth

I'm sorry, baby – god's dead

and now the sky rains red on a spider web

stretched like sutures across a broken windshield.

It seems Adam took a bite of the fermented apple

and, with a head spun of selfish whim,

he drove his four by four straight into god's car and

. . . maybe when you're older.

I'm sorry, baby,

I know it must be tough, standing on the cold earth, a cold orphan

but

'vengeance is mine', saith the lord

at least, he would, if his tongue wasn't dust.

I know you have questions

like 'why?'

. . . maybe when you're older:

just a few years, when Adam's free to take another bite

you can ask him

'why

did you make me a cold orphan on this cold earth?'