Crusader

Those heavenly bodies, they'll rend your mind to ribbons. It's true; But first, you must be willing to play the part. Only the blind, deaf, dumb, and pious need apply. You'll sit in your padded seat, nodding. So sad, it's true, and who are you? Lips blue, eyes black. A warm cadaver to be filled. Don't bother looking back, the end of the tunnel disappeared long ago. Surely, to turn from the rising sun is blindness, to spit on sacred ground is folly, to face the abyss without fear is madness and abandon. Sometimes, in the ragged dusk I hear a shallow murmur, a call to arms for the dirty and faithless. It's true, so who am I to ask why? I, of these tired lies, and small, evil mind. Not so evil as the silent engines that propel my quest. A sojourn fetter'd in shackles of taunting realities, held above our brows as a beacon to the journeys of tomorrow. And blessed am I, to vanquish the marauding bandits. The unwanted and foul. Those who would not accept the gift. Gibbering with thoughts of lust, hatred, and pride I prevail. Breathless, at the peak of that wretched descent, we'll see the fabled reward, cold and pale. To those who mock or doubt my tale, may the mercy of fools be upon ye.