Tartarus, without stars,
as the sky cannot see us,
and the satellites, radio waves,
and even God is blind to us.
They sent us down underground,
without gold for Charon, because
we had no gold in our rundown house
in a bad part of town.
In the dark, the galaxies in her head
dim, with no hope for escape,
for the sun, for the warmth of Elysium
that all those rich assholes enjoy.
We hatch a mad plan; to make love,
birth a star that will grow to be an angel.
Raise up through the rock to world above.
Call down a disinterested Seraphim or Paladin.
Even though it was their kind who brought us here.
No other sword or key.
No other face in the sky.
Nothing but time to sharpen fangs.