This is probably awful but, I'll let you all decide..

Everything turns red as the mushroom cloud makes love to you.
You can tell him to keep going, even scream his name,
"Oh, Hiroshima! Oh Nagasaki!"
He laughs and you cry;
You're crying because you're in love.
He's laughing because he isn't,

And every skin-cell he steals
He arranges around his lips,
So he'll always be smiling,
And he'll stab bullet-casings in his eyes,
So he'll always be crying.

He'll cover your body in rose pedals before the end,
He'll wrap you in silk and staple ribbons to your skin,
And those puncture wounds can sing as they drip innocence,
And you can share gangrene limbs and heartfelt conversation.

Your mascara is dripping down your chin,
But you let him finish before you hide away
your jeans and cash and slip out when he's sleeping.
He cries out in his sleep, because he knows he killed you.

"Oh Socialism!"
"Oh October!"

You drop dead on his front lawn.
its no Von Geothe!

and a mushroom cloud is known in the esoteric world as luciferian light, nothing to praised about