To fantasize is only human
The term is often misused
I fantasize about our children's graves
Spattered in leaf shade, waiting in aching lines to meet us
We have not just buried our own.
The concept should be familiar enough
I slaughter a million when I salt my food
You'd kill so many if you kissed my neck
The funereal future never was ours to bloodstain
The Germans took our chance, I think
Or maybe it was the waiter
It's deterministic, I know
I've been told it's too abstract for a creed
I can only bring myself to blame the logarithm
Mistakes make people,
And there are no mistakes
I've never been more sure.
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