I Am The Thorn

The needle in the eye of the hurricane,
the poison in the font.
The nail in the coffin of the profane,
I am the lot!

Maniacal the fire that
weaves inside my soul
when dripping tongues
of hate envenomed roll.

Like carpet bombs in vast bazaars
my blood runs with the beasts
though no crescent cross or wandering
star shalt witness my defeat.

Born of jackal in the Vatican
to a loathsome flock, I have
crept behind the drapes and
a wizard there is not.

Just a white flag blackened by
singing weapons that have led
a faith that soon dominions over
desert kingdoms of the dead.

I smell the fleur du malcontent,
the hellish stench of Judas in the dozens.

Bouquets for greed and twisted law,
handmaidens of a holy war.
Bring on a thousand roses more,
I am the thorn!

Tangled are the thickets
that spare the virgin heart
from the waking grasp of
rapists in the dark.

Mountaineers that strive so far
for a Heaven grown from reach,
that love herself is fabled
to be missing from their peaks.

Save in one sole tower
where the presence of a rod
stays the sleeping beauty from
the prying fingers of the mob.

I smell the fleur du malcontent,
the hellish stench of Judas in the dozens.

Bouquets for greed and twisted law,
handmaidens of a holy war.
Bring on a thousand roses more,
I am the thorn!

I am the spear of Longinus,
the sword of Damocles.
Kali up in arms, a bleeding sinus,
the hammer of the Gods
in the prophet's teeth.

I am the thorn!

Saint Disgustus, President Evil,
great white hopes of a shark-eyed people,
lights of the world now flicker and die.

Impaled in the race, in the paling face
where forked tongues pricked the skies.
Choking on these words as I slither to their ear
as lightning strikes their blinded minds.

I am the thorn!
I am not the hand of God...

Territorial thieves ever stealing
thunder for religious causes,
I will bring you all down to
your knees and fuck you over!

Bouquets for greed and twisted law,
handmaidens of a holy war.
Bring on a thousand roses more,
I am the thorn!