from Take Me To Church
The blithesome lark pursued him not;
he dwelt in dark and lurid spheres
of dung and tears,
the glades of happiness forgot.
Consumed the universe Unease;
we sat on heady thrones of yore,
that Stygian lore;
somnambulant was our disease.
Ambrosial was our pursuit,
bejeweled the tomb of Abraham -
and like a lamb
emerged from dust, salvific root.
The stripling met with Abaddon
low in the bosom of his hell
to simply tell
that he was Tetragrammaton.