When you've killed off all your unbelievers and all tongues and jaws wag 'rightly'' what world will you have wrought? a heaven stacked of bodied bricks? temples of rank offering fearful compliance sans love, sans reliance souls racked and taut not surrendered, not faithfully purchased But you'll do it—make hell for lack of facing despair cast a dream o'er the whole world and choke on perfected netting And we'll believe it with all impunity, religiously weave it each day with bright eyes and squinting half-belief and eyebrows raised as if, running off our stapled foreheads, our kin unto dumb death will rest in their sturdier hearts our infinite doubt in these gross methods. Yes, what a hell we've woven 'round heaven.