Lord, I Fashion Dark Gods,

We Shall Not Always Plant While Others Reap

Ever At Thy Glowing Altar Must My Heart Grow Sick And Falter, Wishing He I Served Were Black.

I Cut My Teeth As The Black Raccoon-- For Implements Of Battle.

I Was Reared In The Conservative Atmosphere Of A Methodist Parsonage.

Dame Poverty Gave Me My Name, And Pain Godfathered Me.