The Doxology of Venal Throats

As empty as the pleas plagued by greedy fervor ...
A saint's words permeate his Lord's vertigo
They are daydreams that rest on sick ears
Soaked in its proselyte breakdown during a feverish sleep

Weeping propagate through a cold and empty silence
Pouring the sour balm of divine putrefaction
Wounds of oblivion that incessantly bleed
Haunted by thorns, a hug in tragedy and loneliness

Putrid mouths regurgitate the voices of exile
Plagues and despair flooded empty prophecies
They were sown in the abandonment of god
Like a noxious fruit that grows with tears of blood

Lamentations exhale through the veil of condemnation
Caressed by a perfidious poisonous kiss
Crimson scars from that septic sacrament
United by thorns, a hug in suffering and misery

Memories of the bitterness of a wicked grace
They no longer pay reverence to the fallen torment monolith
Reaching all the saints who now permeate our vengeance
Fueled by her screams of doxology of venal throats

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