Michael Is Done

Now Michael is done
Stripped bare of pretense soaking his sheets
While counting insects
He's a grid on the sun
He's the hate in the love
Every hole is a leak when Michael does speak
But Michael will win
There's a flame on his tongue
His words are burnt meat to muscle and rend
Now Michael will cloak
Every raft in his moat to speak is to choke
To leave is to come when the other has come
Then Michael is done is done, is done

While cracking his lens
He is breaking his hands
Growing wings from his back
Michael sinks in his sack
When Michael is gone some other will come
When the other has come then Michael is done
Is done, is done