Troubadour

Those who commit heresy are known as lovers,
and there is you, my heretic troubadour,
speechless and untalented spirit
running through my vains while absorbing my blood
There is you and there was you all the time
hidden, unadulterated, raw
staring at me from the depths of infinity
since the vibe of your body was pure and sinless
Childish laughter, spotted conscience
how can you love me? How can you love me still?
Spike me! Spike my skin, bowels and soul!
whenever you find me, wherever my soul is.