just burned
bow down
this ugly scar will mend itself again,
but when will its figure die?
pierced through the heart
i watch the red elixir spill from the center of its life
i depict eighteen visions for its demise
not even water can bring back two thousand years of life i've watched die
rise to your glory on the third day
you are not my christ
rise utopia
damned to hell
i rest this figure of ideal perfection
there will be no funeral for this profane existence
always on the left hand path