Do you trust your mother even though she’s a virgin?
Do you consider me your sister, since we’re both children of God?
Do you turn up the radio when Killing In The Name Of comes on?
Do you eat black cat heart with sharp gilded teeth?
Do you walk on the water by the docks or just throw the stones around?
Do you scrawl midnight graffiti on the glass house, write “I wasn’t clear either”?
Do you kick in the door to heaven or knock like the rest of us?
Do you feel like hell?
Do you braid a chain of metal through the cells where your martyrs go?
Do you fist for a riot and cum for a cult?
Do you thank yourself in the liner notes?
Do you howl at the full moon in the desert made of ash, where there’s a fight against coyotes and a wall of broken bone?
Do you ever think to turn the sun down so no one burns alive in locked trains and cars and trucks and vans?
Do you still weep?
Do you cross your heart and hope to die any other way?
Do you have to see me to believe me?
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