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Perdition Oct. 27, 2001 ] 4:41 a.m. They stick their bones in you Their beaten skin stretched infinitesimally small A drum to beat upon and to measure beat While the drug of choice in you trembles and groans While the palsy of helplessness shakes, trembles and moans The heart calls in vain The horns of the lover Bent and goring the vertigo Borne beaten thin over the frame of your soul While the carousel of life whirls round you Churning in a maenadic frenzy And you grasp the mind and its taint And the palsy of sainthood wears thin over you. wax ] wane