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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
Copyright ©
Ramael Vosem
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