The Corpse of God

Death, you look sickly today
What has got you down, my old friend?
You hang your head so low
As you sit at the foot of my bed
"Where once towered forest vast,
now towers steel and glass."
And these shuffling people with open sores
Death, you can no longer provide, and must be severed
A moment to observe...
Is this whom you pray to,
Of whom forgiveness beg?
Weakling! So sayeth the opposer, upholder of the fall
Known by many names
Proud descendents of Satan, upholders of Lucifer's law
And the sniffling people with open sores
Shuffling through the slush
Failure to observe and sever
Let us dance before him
And aloud our voices ring
Rising to the heavens
Resurrecting the corpse of God
To murder him once again