Dirge Inferno

Carrion my name
for those who choose to mouth the curse,
a tragic serenade,
with judas in my stride,
the gothic halls of shame,
where statues coldly hold no worse,
than the murders i reclaim,
from a dark, forsaken time.
kissing heaven spent,
he wipes lips free of his hectic dishcharge,
wishing to repent,
for the brute that ravaged free,
in slight hands beauty weeps,
conquest's deep methodical screwing,
hurt repeatedly,
like the world wound at his feet,
Dirge Inferno
as it is written, damn it,
so let it be wrung,
from throats of those in overthrow,
the past at last has come,
a savage bite without respite,
pervades the freezing air,
this winter chill, grist for his mill,
if tears of joy will blear elsewhere,
hissing malcontent,
he storms the skies on electric discharge,
pissing in contempt,
on the effigies of the weak,
killing all resolve,
the great east simmers, his scarlet women,
spit their vitriol,
on the terrorfied face of peace,
Dirge Inferno
as it is written, damn it,
so let it be wrung,
from throats of those in overthrow,
the past at last has come,
a hellbound heart, the rose and thorn
have locked to hasten blood,
the moon disrobes, to harden droves,
of legions pouring,
these rivers press, his breath adorns,
senates and enemy seats,
whilst his power takes as ingratitude,
the writhing of the weak,
wornwood my name,
the poisoned star that feel to earth,
and blistered free of shame,
in the pits of self-rebirth
now those caves become a garret,
overseeing endless baracks,
as the waters turn to claret,
and the vatican satins burn.