The vines
grow swiftly from their frozen tomb
The beast
of burden toils under the pale moon
The slave
is whipped without complaint
The wife
is beaten shown no restraint
The
beggar starves in the dusty street
The
prisoner awaits his gods to meet
The
innocents flee as their homes are burned
The man
awards himself the death he’s “earned”
Their
flesh is bloodied aged and torn
But their
souls hope and await their Lord
For these
are the children of the Mad God
He calls
to them with His great ivy rod
Release
from burned pain anguish and lies
Are His
free gifts to all not just the wise
Eove!
Eove! Eove!
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