Waiting
for the God to come
home; if I saw her
on the road would I run,
hitching up my skirts,
fire up the pyre,
melt the golden calf,
sacrifice my unbelief,
my cold soul
on the altar of her passion?
Waiting
for the God to come
home; if I saw her
on the road would I run,
hitching up my skirts,
fire up the pyre,
melt the golden calf,
sacrifice my unbelief,
my cold soul
on the altar of her passion?