Swine at the Cross

Man-made doom bled death from the sky;

to all but a few, salvation was denied

Heavenly father, son and holy ghost,

save your servants (those of us who aren't toast)

The not-yet-dead discovered that to be

a nuclear family means a whole new thing;

All-too-trusting shambling pseudomorphs

put their trust in a man of the cloth

Make them hate you, rotting cleric...

Remember, you are pu of my loins, you are pus

Give voice to your left side, let me in:

I've sawn the seeds of your redemption;

In subhumanicide, I am your guide:

seventy-seven times make them die

The sun is shining on a brand new day

Blackened corpses smolder where they slain;

Self-flagellation prompts him to confess:

Bless me father, for I made this mess

Immolation meant to purify sin wracked souls

Let diseased bodies die; survivors twice lost:

Betrayed in fire, by the Swine of the Cross