Do not make an idolator of me There was a temple between us A temple bound in blood And you offered it sweet meats Under the moon, ripe fruit In the Sun and you said I was free to take it And on dark nights You fed the gods refuse And it was my fault the rain Did not come and it was my fault For eating the softer fruit And it was my fault For not mounting the stones And it was my fault For not offering myself to the gods Like a pot of nectarines or almonds As if it was not the fire I would be feeding As if it was not you who would be warm If I owe them I owe them sown from soil And if I owe them I owe them sweat not blood If I am to be the fire then you have fed me refuse If I am to be the fire then you have fed me nectarines and almonds If I am to be the fire then I will eat myself to ashes I will leave nothing for the gods, And they will leave nothing For you