The pigs are taking shots at the mourners on the hill I'm truly not neutral but I lost all direction Day I woke ready to blow the bridge For finding you hand over your mouth So instead, I burned my own village down I'm grieving for you, my love And I don't understand what's going on Just as the twin volcanoes of cuauhnāhuac, we were once stable So sad I must bury every thought of you before it shows its teeth Now I amuse myself with [?] form of virgilian lots Like your neo-feminist divinations Our memories, once almost sacred Are embarrassments to me now Of the three things I find most shocking The first is how trivial you are The second is my depth of feeling Third, the purity of our collapse