Is it still here? Oh, please God let it stop
I don't think I can stand it anymore.
It shakes my faith and body to the core
And yet it will not, though it makes me, drop.
I must consign myself into the slop
And writhe as I have never done before
And still there's no relief; for an encore
Arises in me, readying to plop
Despite what I might wish. If it could cease
I would be moved, because my bowels weren't,
To sing hosannahs, joyfully serene;
Right now, however, everything feels burnt,
With flames that will not let me rest in peace:
Leaving my soul and body both unclean.
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