Neuter. Maria Magdalena. There is grime on my face There is crust in my eye There is no-one in the place But no-one said goodbye This is how I start another day in my kingdom There is hate in my heart This is how my day starts There is blood on my hands From the murder of a man This is how I start another day in my kingdom And where is my queen She’s as gone as can be She was a fine looking lady And she liked to go down on me And I liked to go down on her too In India, there’s the Taj On good times there was Raj And here-ee look and see All there is is me This is how I start another day in my kingdom This is how I start another day in my kingdom There are good times to be had Only insane’s really bad The lord and I agree It’s not too off to be What we are As long as we’re royalty You fuck and what’s to do (you fuck!) It’s not your kingdom too

The risen lord, the risen lord Has risen in the flesh, And treads the earth to feel the soil Though his feet are still nesh. The risen lord, the risen lord Has opened his eyes afresh, And sees strange looks on the faces of men All held in leash. And he says : I never have seen them before, These people of flesh ; These are no spirits caught and sore In the physical mesh. They are substance itself, that flows in thick Flame of flesh forever travelling Like the flame of a candle, slow and quick Fluttering and softly unravelling. It moves, it ripples, and all the time It changes, and with it change Moods, thoughts, desires, and deeds that chime With the rippling fleshly change. I never saw them, how they must soften Themselves with oil and lard Their guts with a certain fat, and often Laugh, and laugh hard. If they didn’t, if they did not soften Themselves with oil and lard Their guts with a certain fat, and often Laugh, and laugh hard They would not be men, and they must be men, They are their own flesh. – I lay In the tomb and was not ; I have risen again To look the other way. Lo ! I am flesh, and the blood that races Is me in the narrows of my wrists. Lo, I see fear in the twisted faces Of men, they clench fear in their fists ! Lo ! on the other side of the grave I have conquered the fear of death, But the fear of life is still here ; I am brave Yet I fear my own breath. Now I must conquer the fear of life, The knock of the blood in my wrists, The breath that rushes through my nose, the strife Of desires in the loins’ dark twists. What do you want, wild loins ? and what Do you want, warm heart ? and what Wide eyes and wondering spirit ? – not Death, no not death for your lot ! They ask, and they must be answered ; they Are, and they shall, to the end. Lo ! there is woman, and her way is a strange way, I must follow also her trend. I died, and death is neuter ; it speaks not, it gives No answer; man rises again With mouth and loins and needs, he lives Again man among men. So it is, so it will be, for ever and ever. And still the great needs of men Will clamour forth from the flesh, and never Can denial deny them aga