Our courtship was denied at the Supreme level but we're viruses in this concrete bloodstream. There's a slow dance on a floor of corpses, knives binge on the beat. Does the twinkle in my eye match the neon light in your heart? Just look next door at the pet cemetery. They gassed the crows and put our names on the stones. The two of us are fugitives wanted at The Last Supper. White suits will spread wildfire to get us out of bed in the morning. But we're bad. We've sent oil rig engineers to an asteroid headed for Earth and bred zombies in civilian designated areas. Tomorrow they'll tie our entrails to a cross but tonight we'll be martyrs swinging blissfully from a broken pendulum.