The needle in the eye of the hurricane
The poison in the font
The nail in the coffin of the profane
I am the lot
Maniacal the fire
That weaves inside my soul
When dripping tongues of hate, envenomed, roll
Like carpet bombs in vast bazaars
My blood runs with the beasts
Though no crescent, cross
Or wandering star
Shalt witness my defeat
Born of jackal in the Vatican
To a loathsome flock
I have crept behind the drapes
And a wizard there is not
Just a white flag blackened by
Singing weapons that have led
A faith that soon dominions over
Desert kingdoms of the dead
I smell the fleur du malcontent
The hellish stench
Of Judas in the dozens
Bouquets for greed and twisted law
Handmaidens of a holy war
Bring on a thousand roses more
I am the thorn
Tangled are the thickets
That spare the virgin heart
From the waking grasp of rapists in the dark
Mountaineers that strive so far
For a Heaven grown from reach
That love herself is fabled
To be missing from their peaks
Save in one sole tower
Where the presence of a rod
Stays the sleeping beauty
From the prying fingers of the mob
I smell the fleur du malcontent
The hellish stench
Of Judas in dozens
Bouquets for greed and twisted law
Handmaidens of a holy war
Bring on a thousand roses more
I am the thorn
I am the thorn
I am the Spear of Longinus
The sword of Damocles
Kali up in arms, a bleeding sinus
The hammer of the gods in the prophet