odium amplexus

Come the morning, we will shed The tears of infants, painted red. Mother's love can save the child But not the mother from her death. Soon the child will grow up hated, then the voices soon abated, when he finds wickedness in pleasure And in blood, he finds a laugh He is lost, they say, abandoned Bastard child who fathers misfortune He is crooked in his stature Out of his jaw leaps a lie Yet he carries out the sentence Righteous man endures the torture Of this world without a Father Where the love of God shall die Fear the son, lest he be joyous In your twisted castrato chorus Separating joy from voices So that you can only cry You will burn and starve and vomit And your terror will be voiceless Unless you embrace the hatred And become as loved as I