Diabolus

I tried to picture how that's possible
Tried to equate with that parable
I told myself it'll be implausible
That massacre in my head is just horrible

It's just too nauseous to put my finger on it
It's too malicious to put my feelings to it
He's been feeling exquisite with his fingers in it
Quite an exhibit though if the board was on it

But the walls were up, the thorns were out
Her voice was gone, something to live without
Slowly she started to bleed down the walkabout
She was plainly nothing but a forged devout

For the tingle she had to soothe was that of a saint
A saint to the public who triggered off the pain
In the drape, he was a diety who appeared so plain
Hadn't it been his crusty coat, he'd melt in the rain

But the story goes as the artiste shows
How the stanzas grow with its tingling claws
That the truth, now and then is in front of you
It's a matter of time for it to breed in you

For the one you anticipate isn't the one you need
When the one you abominate lifts you off your greed
As memory itself is merely a game
A game of trusting your inner tame

-PRK-