I do Not Bleed From Your Crown Of Thorns

Can you see me?
I am the thorn in your eye
I bet you sense me
I am the ever growing presence of your fear

Come have a taste
I am the sour tissue ravishing through your pores
Like a mass grave expending evermore
Like a multitude of plagues reviving

Holy is your name
Like golden hope, all draped on the highest of thrones
Of misfortune and loss, grief and despair
Like beggars of the lesser kind

Sustate et videte
Quoniam suavis
Est Dominus beatus vir
Qui sperat in eo

Give praise to the lord
Oh, merciful lord

I thrive on decadence on the stench of decay
As I tighten the knot on this chain of flesh
A chain of at least a hundred newborn children
Entangled by their necks and feet

For holy is your name
And yor glory is eternal

And we all shall flourish in your name
And feel the warmth of your enlightenment
All withing the circle
A circle of slithering serpents
Like a mass grave expending evermore