Last of the Lemach Line
I am the secular Pentecost
Squeezing out the blue snake
I never count what I lost
Just what I take

I’m gone from the garden with a gun
You know I don’t want to hurt no one
Your 8 letters spelling out the sun
Not like me to leave a job undone

Wet monks clink bottles
Like bells
We mouth the paradise
Anticipate hell

She said to me
My mouth is open to show I’m hungry
All that peace just ached for the enemy
I stare crazy at things I know you don’t see
I am gonna eat them up before they eat me
So now we’re in the garden with a gun
Living in the Kingdom’s first time come
Her 3 letters spelling out the sun
Making sure that we’re the only ones