A Feast of Friends

Wow, I'm sick of doubt
 Live in the light of certain South cruel bindings
 The servants have the power
 Dog-men and their mean women
 Pulling poor blankets over our sailors
 I'm sick of dour faces staring at me from the TV tower
 I want roses in my garden bower; dig?
 Royal babies, rubies must now replace aborted strangers in the mud
 These mutants, blood-meal for the plant that's plowed
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 They are waiting to take us into the severed garden
 Do you know how pale and wanton thrillful comes death on a strange hour?
 Unannounced, unplanned for like a scaring over-friendly guest you've brought to bed
 Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders
 Smooth as raven's claws
 No more money, no more fancy dress
 This other kingdom seems by far the best
 Until its other jaw reveals incest
 And lose obedience to a vegetable law
 I will not go
 Prefer a feast of friends to the giant family