Our surrogate christ suffer us not in these moments of effigy
Clean blade restless lay down your head on this cold stone your dying bed
Wide eyes dreaming well fed and groomed to this unholy melding day
Betrayed by the servants of grandeur to behead the ungulate
White hands caressing
Tied down with ropes of vine
Momentary flash of light
Feed it with your blood's life
Ritual fires flash flare in the dead of black
Mesh robes and fabric thrashing through the palette
Of human bodies twisting and turning in carnal joy
Alleviated from ten years of pestilence
You are the pristine offering to the all god in invisible golden halls
Feel the blood rush through your hoofs and horns
Before you spill into chalices seeing with your final heart beats
Your servants drinking your life with hopes of parting the skies
The wound hurts not for the ritual tools have been sharpened with precision
The moon eclipses the stars of the seventh house
Striping and making way for the next sacrifice
Blades turned upon themselves in a secondary flash of light
Writhing in ecstasy becoming carcasses
Their souls pass through the seventh gate purified by the flames of consumption
Overdriven by wildfire
As their bodies burn to ash with the grain
Columns of smoke blowing
Carrying north their hope of betterment
Leaving behind all bodies
As a testament to the sacrifice of all man
