In his bed of sorrow
-All painted in red-
The giant of this story
Cried, and then he said:
“I’m not evil,
Though I kill you,
My loving, dear Beth.
It’s not my fault,
-Or yours-
That I have axes instead.
No arms in my body,
No mercy in God’s grace”.
A man with no arms
Love cannot even hold,
His spirit so heavy
Under his feet deep down.
Voices, voices,
Talking to his members:
“You are not the one
To blame”
Whispers, whispers,
Enlarging his awareness:
“God is the one
Who cares”.
Embrace the suffering
Of being alone,
Let the blood be the
bride
In the weeding
Of the doom.
All the joy, and grace
With your arms are
gone.
Cut their fucking heads
In the eternal hug.
No one ever told him
About the power of love,
Only of envy, and blood
He will ever know.
He hates so much the world
That embraces it with axes.
Even loving himself
Carries expensive taxes.
Embrace the suffering
Of being alone,
Let the blood be the
bride
In the weeding
Of the doom.
All the joy, and grace
With your arms are
gone.
Cut their fucking heads
In the eternal hug.
Like a huge tower
With small support,
There was a sad giant
Breaking anything he saw.
“It is not my fault
-nor yours-
No arms in my body,
No mercy in God’s”.
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