Chorus of the Damned

Dip thy finger to give me a drop,
My tongue smarts a flame that will not quench
I cannot, I will not rings out the response.
This memory I carry and cannot avenge.
The tar from lust ferments in cankers,
With the howling and ravishing screams
Sounding forth from tenants full of rancor,
To return and repeat as motifs and themes.
We writhe beneath the chain and whip;
Anathemas of the earth, lost to the deep’s devout
No prayer, nor psalm redeems from the grip
Of shackles.  Still undying our chorus rings out,
Oh Babylon, oh Babylon, with thee we fell
We’re going to the cesspools of Satan to dwell.