Grave are the Hairs on our Asses

Grave are the sins of men
and grave are the world sins
Grave are wastes? of the chess
pieces in God's game
When hair sings their
fundament in vain
??? I saw in the mirror
the waste that we unkept
???? her
As others celebrate in the
manners refined
My oiling and smoothing
attracts only flies
The sun casts shadows of
me with Cam's mark???
Shivering with a falchion
waving near ever by head
that in the image we must
hold ugliness then wed
My foe that in omnipotence
cannot be seen even
primses to legs and hips
kept unclean pants stay up
and on except in dark because
grave are the hairs
grave are the hairs