You gouge the right eye of your infantsnAnd seat them high on a cloudnTo gaze at one hand of your saviornIs their ignorance what you're so proud of?nYou condemn the rind of an applenAs obstructing your conscience so whitenYou curse every rib of that first wicked soulnBut pity yourself for your providential plightnnI want fruit in my gardennA tart behind my wifenI want hell below heavennI want death with my lifenIsn't the option beautiful?nnYou admire your children's sheltered virtuenBut they haven't yet raced through the dust and the heatnDon't mistake innocence for puritynI say put them on trial, cast them out on the streetnLet's watch their superior reasonnCompete with new appetitenI'll gamble my chips that they'll side with the devilnThis is a fascinating sightnnI want fruit in my gardennA tart behind my wifenI want hell below heavennI want death with my lifenIsn't the option beautiful?nnCarnal tongues flashing in a whirlwind of passionnA perpetual complacencynCoveting chattel in spite of the meansnA commune in landscape so greennThick, juicy venison, straight to the ventriclesnA mind and a body so cleannJealousy driving to injure or killnA temper eternally serenennI want fruit in my gardennA tart behind my wifenI want hell below heavennI want death with my lifenIsn't the option beautiful?