stealthpeng
12/14/09, 12:24 AM
Fire quietly consumes shadows in a corridor
Moonless morning frames the arsonist
Matching his tar covered lungs
Orange ash falls longingly off the edge of a black mild
A creased smile sends out a tuft of thick smoke
The Great War never ended on the outside
So why should it end inside?
Over two million ideas like these rankle his mind
Grazing fingertips so gently on his lips
As the cigarette again penetrates
The flickering light of sparks slows
And only stonework is left
Not even the steeple remains
While he muses about the men that died in those days
Even bitter thoughts and nicotine fail him now
Dark angels in .40 caliber promise salvation
But he prefers to die from the cancer
While shedding effulgence into the pit of his soul
With every church burned
And every bridge and every road and every town leading him there
Passing by every opportunity to stare into the blue eyes
Of the Son’s mourning sky
“How can there be room in heaven when there’s no place for me on earth?
How can you offer forgiveness when I’ve destroyed your work?
How can you hear my voice when my body cries for hell?
How do you plan on saving the chief of all the whores?
How will you birth me twice when I’m a bastard from the first?
How will you adopt a man without police reports?
I’ve burned down all your meeting halls
And spit on all your sons
Mocked the co-heirs to your throne
And threatened them with guns
I don’t know where I started out or what I’ve turned in to
So how can you say you love me when this world provides no clues?”
He fell on his knees and wept and screamed
Blaspheming his demons and Christ on the same string
Confident his cough meant relief from his life
Falling down onto the ground the man unsheathed a knife
Loosing all the ventricles, splaying all the veins
Of every last shackle that in his life contained
Wary that his time drew near and the blood still flowed through him
He wept and gave the blade to Him whose life will never end
But miraculous and mysteriously, instead of taking part
Christ took upon the blood himself and the knife into his heart
And as the man coughed his last, God looked him in the eye
“Today the fire that burned outside will now burn within
The black and diseased spirit will never be seen again
No longer will you walk on a path alone
Or burn down a building
A church
Or friend
For today you belong to me,
As my blood has covered your own
I’ve become sin for you
So I welcome you to home”
Moonless morning frames the arsonist
Matching his tar covered lungs
Orange ash falls longingly off the edge of a black mild
A creased smile sends out a tuft of thick smoke
The Great War never ended on the outside
So why should it end inside?
Over two million ideas like these rankle his mind
Grazing fingertips so gently on his lips
As the cigarette again penetrates
The flickering light of sparks slows
And only stonework is left
Not even the steeple remains
While he muses about the men that died in those days
Even bitter thoughts and nicotine fail him now
Dark angels in .40 caliber promise salvation
But he prefers to die from the cancer
While shedding effulgence into the pit of his soul
With every church burned
And every bridge and every road and every town leading him there
Passing by every opportunity to stare into the blue eyes
Of the Son’s mourning sky
“How can there be room in heaven when there’s no place for me on earth?
How can you offer forgiveness when I’ve destroyed your work?
How can you hear my voice when my body cries for hell?
How do you plan on saving the chief of all the whores?
How will you birth me twice when I’m a bastard from the first?
How will you adopt a man without police reports?
I’ve burned down all your meeting halls
And spit on all your sons
Mocked the co-heirs to your throne
And threatened them with guns
I don’t know where I started out or what I’ve turned in to
So how can you say you love me when this world provides no clues?”
He fell on his knees and wept and screamed
Blaspheming his demons and Christ on the same string
Confident his cough meant relief from his life
Falling down onto the ground the man unsheathed a knife
Loosing all the ventricles, splaying all the veins
Of every last shackle that in his life contained
Wary that his time drew near and the blood still flowed through him
He wept and gave the blade to Him whose life will never end
But miraculous and mysteriously, instead of taking part
Christ took upon the blood himself and the knife into his heart
And as the man coughed his last, God looked him in the eye
“Today the fire that burned outside will now burn within
The black and diseased spirit will never be seen again
No longer will you walk on a path alone
Or burn down a building
A church
Or friend
For today you belong to me,
As my blood has covered your own
I’ve become sin for you
So I welcome you to home”