Ravenous Madness

There's sorrow burning on the hilltop,
Pyre for the peace of a restless heart,
Hybrid heart skewered by the martyr's sword,
And behold...
            Terminus Est.....
                          Masters pride....
'Cept for defiant servants fed to the blade,
Fed to the madness of the godmachine,
To my dismay...
              The angels are there....
They're there stoking up the madness,
          ....stoking up the godmachine,
Burning hearts for the ever man,
Sorrows smoke rising from the distant hilltop,
Beacon for broken men and hell bound hearts,
Dinner bell for the ravenous horror smiling,
Grinning wicked grin.....
                      rubbing his hands....
Ear to ear, stark as bone, bringing fear,
Hell bound hearts take flight with sorrows smoke,
Broken men run, not far enough, not high enough,
Fearful and complacent....
                        poor lambs.....
                                  poor, poor....
Hiss, thump, a breathe, a heart beat, time,
Wide eyed with fear before the axe, poor lambs,
Swine to the slaughter house, crying blood,
Poor, poor swine.....
                    Headless, gutless....
                                      Poor swines dead...
Consumed, forgotten, left wasted and rotten,
The angels heedless just go on stoking,
And harken not to the cries of the dying,
Enthralled by the hungry godmachine,
Consumed by hunger....
                    The angels feed...
                                      The godmachine...
All the while sorrows smoke is reaching up,
Rising up and reaching out to some heavenly manse,
Far above the godmachine feeding on death,
Out of reach...
              Beyond the radiance....
                                    Of corruption....
Sickly sweet the blight light hurts,
Consuming, corrupting, reeking of carrion,
Twisting the darkness that lurks down deep,
Folding the dark yet darker, thicker,
Hiding, shadowing.....
                  Obfuscating the.....
                                    Radiant filth....
Planting the seed for tomorrows sorrow,
Growing the twisted vine and errant thorn,
To draw the blood of poor lambs and swine,
And begin again...
                  What once ended.....
                                  Again and again....