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!