Blood trickles from accusing eyes,
Matting hair and staining skin,
Weighing down your soul,
For your sin judgement.

Grief in realisation of ethereal abyss,
Godless in death despite atonement in life,
With this your hope bleeds.

Your intent is nothing, you are but fucking human,
What more could you ever hope to be,
When all you ever do is kneel and plead for the divine?

Your faithful, begging, mewling humanity,
Makes me retch in disgust,
Are you not strong enough to face life,
Without being part of a divine plan?

If your symbol knows all,
Your ascended lord,
Why are the clues so cryptic?
Why must circumstantial be treated as irrefutable?

There is nothing for me here,
No shining gilt light,
Nothing but searing agony,
Mercy in decay.

Yet you still choose to beg for inhuman help,
As if your fears of afterlife make sense,
Hide behind your faith, my armour is disdain.

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