Have you ever wondered what heaven's like, what night is like, above the clouds? It might be nice, been there once or twice, and I see what all the fuss is about.

They say it's a world like ours, in fact I think it might be. Nothing's different in that world, it has the same you and me.
But they say that unlike ours, there's something perceived as a man, a man with a golden throne, a man with power in his hands.

He lives in a palace with gleaming walls, on lonely days he roams the halls. But he's never lonely anymore because the demons have found his core.
They pace the halls and laugh at his face and they dance around and call him a disgrace and when he sleeps they enter his dreams and scare him senseless to keep him awake.

After one more meet with demons,
one more look to the man in the mirror,
God had come to a decision,
And no message had been said clearer.
He went in to his dismal room,
Grabbed his gun from under his bed,
Bam, God had pulled the trigger,
And with that trigger, God was dead.

The people wept and the gray returned,
Music was gone along with the words
Yet to be spoken by the brave,
And everything burned that couldn't be saved.

There is no God, our God has died, the demons took his soul aside. Now there's no one to abide, because our God did suicide.

The world became a kaleidoscope
Full of smoke and empty of hope
Turned by the hands of the scared and alone who had lost their happy homes.
They tried to live, but just barely got by
And every day they looked to the grey sky and they would all shed a tear on the day God did suicide.

The tears made a pool and one man looked in and saw our world, and saw his skin in a different way than he had seen it before and with every second he saw more. So he took his hand and he grabbed our sky and he threw it upwards and let it fly. Then he dipped his hand in our watery skin and wore it to show them what was within.

He dipped his hand into the tears and pulled out the sun, bright and clear, and he sprinkled the water over their eyes as the sun returned to the sky. The watery hole still held one more, he took a piece of all our cores, but we did not mind at all, we understood they needed them more.

They all rejoiced in the beautiful place
That had been recreated with the start of a face, and they all wept joy as they looked to the sky
The days after God did suicide.

Bloodbath of the Dark Lady

Black butterfly wings cloak me within deception,
I, just a shadow, that sees all,
And pretends to know not a thing
Of the days to come, while etching a plan in blood
On the skin of my victims from other eras and realities.

They say I have a touch that brings death,
But yet…. It is not entirely true,
My touch doesn’t do all the work
Of fires and bloodshed and pain, I do,
And I quite enjoy it.

I have a loyal pet, who sends out warning,
Its slick feathers shining for all to notice,
As it calls out the sign of my coming
In exchange for fresh meat after the bloodbath and love.
The raven cries like the last stroke of twelve,
A sound of restlessness, fear, and warning.

And then I come, invisible to the eye,
My nails scraping the skin off the living,
My loyal pet stealing their gift of sight from them,
My voice saying the things they dare not speak aloud
And handing them their rope of death,
The air I exhale spreading disease that eats away at whatever is left.

The sun sees me not,
And she shall burn in her own demise
Along with the selfish moon, her orange blood
Raining down as bright flames
And burning her victims where they stand
As my nails claw the stars from the sky.

And the last cry you hear comes from me, in delight,
A cry to shake the bones down to the marrow
As the last sign of light vanishes on the last day,
And I stand, licking the sweet blood and flakes of fried flesh
Off of my long fingers as I smile at the destruction.