Man is Born to Suffer the Madness of Gods

Man is Born to Suffer the Madness of Gods

 

Man is born to suffer the madness of gods,

left crippled on a bloodied field,

screaming their fucks bestrewed with pleas,

defiantly decrying a fate now sealed.

 

An angry sky contains the miasma,

clouds guard whatever heaven might yield,

soldiers too young to have gathered real sin

now bow and confess to be healed.

 

But no hand reaches, no angel heralds,

no great light offers repeal,

the empyrean closed, the body is meat,

the spent pawn merely rots on the field.

 

Body drops on body across the sanguine plain,

still vessels once of life now no more,

the forgotten, the fallen, the dispossessed,

the children of fathers before.

 

Born into the chains of destiny,

where evil men carry no corpse,

a child who once fed on the milk of life,

now chokes in a binge of remorse.

 

Driven to the field by absent leaders,

in the name of gods who bear no face,

the children of children and children of children,

spend their lives in falls from grace.

 

Man is born to suffer the madness of gods,

the cruel shadow of time lays its hand,

from labour pains to anguish the soul fades away,

and in a god’s name is now damned.