O God of all disease and pestilence
Hearer of supplications and healer of broken souls
What price your one drained underling of light and darkness here?
All torn apart and bleeding still?
What mindless imbeciles has he you've seen now becoming, Master?
What of his heart and feelings you think?
I am still one lone cold statue of a disfigured effigy
Mourning for no light yet reason for this tearful image he is now!
O God of all pain and sorrow, Lord of all torment and catharsis
What price me the one who's lost his life yet he breathes still?
What madness can he hold on to when all hope is lost, bought or stolen?
What relief he has now that's worth every penny in gold yet matters not?
Is this not what he has in mind or is this merely a passing shadow of a road still long?
Too long a telling of a mighty impudence but not real enough to be deemed a foe
I am to be smashed on the rocks of a roaring seaway again, bloodier yet merrier in a way?
So what if no one is round enough to hold him on his deathbed then toss him in his pit next?
Tell me now, O Mighty One, tell me now and let him rest!
For I fear his told love so roses for you is much too real yet too mutilated his body of it!
So let's not these corpse praising pagans try and take the money and run again, Dear One
For I fear this will be the end of the sun and the realised ending of damnation, denied!
Help me, O Great One, help me or help me drown myself in darkness freed!
SHITHEAD
LAVATORY
AD 666
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