Continued from Part 1
Upon your knees in golden naves, while peeking through the slots,
You horded thirty silver pieces, downed a whiskey shot,
Then crossed yourself and wrapped yourself in furs of ocelots,
And danced on cleated cloven hoofs in purple polka-dots,
Then drank His blood from chalice cups with pious afterthoughts.
You’ve treated men like mongrels chained, like little flies to swat,
By doing what you wanted to, instead of what you aught;
You wipe your nose with dollar bills and pay your serfs with snot,
But when you pause to preen your pride, you scrub a scarlet blot.
In ashes of our victories: the diamonds that you sought,
The crock of gold, the Golden fleece of bogus Argonauts -
In mirrors of your lifelessness, the evils you begot.
The haunted leaves on winds of time have strewn a shallow plot
Where now beneath the frozen stones blanched bodies bathe in rot,
Disintegrate, return to dust and feed Forget-Me-Nots,
Amidst the bane and pits of pain where broken bones lie caught.
In fields above the catacombs and tombs of Camelot
The black and withered tree of death is rooted to the spot,
Where oft beneath a bleeding moon you hid your gold in pots
Embedding doubts neath barren bogs where roots of wormwood squat.
While waiting at the river Styx, in twisted time untaught,
From branches of the gallows tree, in recollections wrought,
Your soul, a beggar’s blanket, hangs in crazy quilted knots,
With dangling pearls and diamond studs mid dripping crimson clots,
And gaping wounds and bulging eyes like fouling apricots,
And wrapped in chains around your neck, the Reaper’s grim garrote.
For that's the fate of all your kind, disclosed by Wise Men taught.
But that was, oh, so long ago, by now you have forgot’...