“The devil finds work for idle hands.”
Oh, there’s devil’s work in these lands
Where holy deeds come on the whim
Of them who just believe in Him,
And those who believe in Mass and Measure
Make Flesh their goddess and highest pleasure--
Where faithful men who swear the Creed
And hate that Hunger, yet sate the need.
The Bride? She shuts herself away
To stuff her soul with Disarray.
We struggle the struggle with all our hearts,
But far from the battle
Is where the Sin starts.
It’s not the giving-in that caused the Fall
But where She found no fight at all.
Though we, horrified, flee Her name,
Fearing the Fire that heaps on shame,
Our Light of Mind is made a liar
When so outshined
By our Desire.
Even now, my body craves
To feel the pulsing of Her waves
And searches for some sad excuse
To serve the Goddess of Ab-use.
Though I prayed for a fight
(For that was how I felt last night),
I do not gird my loins today
Lest Satisfaction is staved away.
It is easier a thing, to place the blame
On thoughtless action
Than face my shame.