To parable and prose, to sordid script,
Starved for instruction, he seals his Crypt,
Chattel to a watchful paragon's glare;
Idle cherub minds in pilloried prayer,
As fostered lamb on lifeless blade is stripped
broken and dismantled, the divine conscript
lacerates thee to the beat of his snare (despair)
Flog the yawning Centurion with haste
Hold his stead with wide eyes and dare not stray
Or return to the barracks, deed erased
As devout thieves lament their Lord's decay
And howl like orphans "Don't leave us to die
like winge'd game from celestial sky"
They howl "Noxious Christ, we will all soon die
as winge'd game from celestial sky"
They howl like orphans "Ne'er leave us to die
as winge'd game from celestial sky"
They howl like orphans "ne'er lead us awry
as winge'd game from celestial sky"
