PRETENSE

Be still, you dead...
You have no power to resurrect
..
You wrap my body in corruptible cloth
And dump me to be eaten by moth
My soul accounts for your atrocities
I've had enough of your mess;
Fornication, smoking, drunkenness
Lies, lust, envy, what else...
Is what you possess
And seduce me with
Filling my inner being with filth
Today I give you a home; six feet
Where I pray, we will never meet
..
Be still, you dead...
You have no power to resurrect