A wiser man said
Not so long ago
That there is a God
A God of pain
Of impalement
Crucifixion
Burning
Branding
Beating
Brutality
Of flesh
Torn by the tips
Of the finest leather whips
God of denial
Whose mindless revisions
Manipulate the past
With maniac intuition
So tell of this path
To my salvation
Lined with pillaged alms
Broken glass, bleached bones
Backs of nubile sinners
Waiting, pleading
To be saved and slain
Lonely lord of constant rejection
Of relapse or escape
Real love or lusty desires
Surprising to think
That this may be
Pious policeman
Fascist father
Cruel old king:
Relishing sadistic might
Could it be by His own hand
Right is wrong
And wrong is right!
A Christ on His throne
All bleeding and dying
Mary at his feet
All bloody and crying
And they call us morbid!
We don't fear this fate
Don't recoil from what's unknown
But seek its dark embrace!
They call me Heathen
I don't fear this fate
Send for your high priest
I'll spit in his face!
