Sum of Parts

  • Sum of Parts

    Your joy ain't free.

    Nothing can be,

    even that which is within.

    Your alms and sins have value.

     

    In the shadow of the bricks,

    piled by the road

    to Hell for paving:

    there go I.

     

    Under blistered skies

    gold bricks lie

    with strewn, bloody hearts

    beaten before their owners

    before failing with our hope.

     

    Can we cover the loss?

     

    You'd rip the blood from our veins,

    the humor from our bones,

    and the light from our eyes.

    Separate each sanguine system.

     

    Sell the Sum of Parts.

    Abort the whole.