Song parody of
Elohim Ink
by bell's flowers
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Dig your knife into my fresh skin!
Deeper
Harder
Longer
Ah, that's it
Leave your ancestral mark upon my mortal temple
Anywhere you please
I will be your potter's clay still lying unmoved, untouched on Mother Earth's belly
Waiting for your coming
I will be your artist's pad
Unlined
Unadulterated by any man-made or God-made instrument
Spread wide and open to your imaginations
I will be your sculptor's marble
Kneeling before you
Unchiseled
Uncarved
Anxious for your hand to caress and change me by your whims
I am not afraid!
Organize me as though I am your Genesis in your New Edenic version of the Bible
All seven days of Creation shall be sown and reaped in seven moments with you
And whether it takes seven thousand years or seven rotations of Kolob
I will lie on my side and wait for you
Child-like and childish in many ways
The oldest cuts sometimes sting the longest
But I embrace them with hands wide open
Pain is nothing new to these inhabitants
It's course and teaching finger unabatedly molests its print into me
Sometimes, sometimes digging his nails through my sinews
Tugging and slow, slow, slowly ripping away my heart strings
Leaving ruined remains of something I once called Me
So mold me, paint me, engrave me with your Mark, Daddy
I am not afraid
Dig your knife into my fresh skin!
Deeper
Harder
Longer
Ah, that's it
Leave your ancestral mark upon my mortal temple
Anywhere you please
I will be your potter's clay still lying unmoved, untouched on Mother Earth's belly
Waiting for your coming
I will be your artist's pad
Unlined
Unadulterated by any man-made or God-made instrument
Spread wide and open to your imaginations
I will be your sculptor's marble
Kneeling before you
Unchiseled
Uncarved
Anxious for your hand to caress and change me by your whims
I am not afraid!
Organize me as though I am your Genesis in your New Edenic version of the Bible
All seven days of Creation shall be sown and reaped in seven moments with you
And whether it takes seven thousand years or seven rotations of Kolob
I will lie on my side and wait for you
Child-like and childish in many ways
The oldest cuts sometimes sting the longest
But I embrace them with hands wide open
Pain is nothing new to these inhabitants
It's course and teaching finger unabatedly molests its print into me
Sometimes, sometimes digging his nails through my sinews
Tugging and slow, slow, slowly ripping away my heart strings
Leaving ruined remains of something I once called Me
So mold me, paint me, engrave me with your Mark, Daddy
I am not afraid
