Woken in Eden by a steel-string guitar

Eve taught me the chords,

and I learned the ballad of the sinners.

Running from the dictatorship of the cross

I tripped down the stairs.

Limping across a highway

the devil pulled up to me on a rusty motorbike.

He offered me a ticket to the concert

of the damned.

And off we rode.

So with a fist strapped to my heart

I danced in the pit of punks and demons

Singing with the choirs

of Hell’s saints.

My fist pounding the air

to the beat of overdriven guitars and blown

out amps,

surfing on an ocean of tattooed hands.