Virgillian lots

The pigs are taking shots at the mourners on the hill
I'm truly not neutral but I lost all direction
Day I woke ready to blow the bridge
For finding you hand over your mouth
So instead, I burned my own village down

I'm grieving for you, my love
And I don't understand what's going on
Just as the twin volcanoes of cuauhnāhuac, we were once stable
So sad I must bury every thought of you before it shows its teeth
Now I amuse myself with [?] form of virgilian lots
Like your neo-feminist divinations

Our memories, once almost sacred
Are embarrassments to me now
Of the three things I find most shocking
The first is how trivial you are
The second is my depth of feeling
Third, the purity of our collapse