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Gospel Brolik

de Marathon

We fall
Victim to the arrow's thrust
No plate that covers chest
Shields this bastard child
The brother's sister bare him
Young enough to climb the walls
Old enough to never fall
He is pushed by the immoral
And handed to his death
Forbidden from nature with
Too light of eyes, too pale of skin
Incestuous sights will carry
Across each household of the north
Winter sets in freezing brittle bones
Children hold no regard in this age of silence
They eat the meat of the dog, skin the fur of bear
What torment do we share
It is the fall of night
Bringing the still of eyes
It is the walker's tongue
Ripping out our lies
Many sons will die
For human nature's crimes
Strangle the children
Die
Strangle children 'til eyes bleed
Mother takes the caps of knees
The bastard son encounters each of his graves
With a calm eyes and steady hand
Gutting this child of innocence
When did it come to this point of repulsion
This is our torment

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