if lust was simply but a child of state
then and now to be a bastard of the fate
that all destinies are met not good or bad
but in the joke so practically had

time for heart or merely time for hate
the common weeds are gathered with the sate
and by an accident were only meant
to be just a moment of discontent

in every single hour life is short
in every raining shower faith abort
and all alone each forced to perform the trick
that makes profession of faith a heretic

witness the fools of time who died confessing lives of crime
in the belief they are made clean to enter into love supreme