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With whimpers wet He wept, He wept,
And still the steely blade I kept:
Upon His skin the blade impressed
And trickled soft upon His breast.
A mournful cry He issued then,
But short the steel would cut it when
The blood would issue forth unchecked
And crimson on his shirt be flecked

A child perhaps was then His soul
But nonetheless must burn the toll
Of pride unchecked in parents' hearts:
The hidden rapists, and the tarts.
I slid it quick, the blade of steel,
And through His throat with wicked zeal;
I drew and dropped His wicked frame
And uttered forth His wicked name:

REPENTANCE, the sole Son of Sin,
Inheritant of guilt within;
The mortal coil shed now in fear
Could naught but slowly disappear
And in its stead to my delight
Leapt forth that Daemon of the night
And met my blade with sharp disdain:
Forth had the Daemon leapt in vain.

For from that night It hurt no more
Nor pestered madmen nor that whore
That sits upon the breast of man
And has since ere this world began.
With frothy foam of reddened breath
It withers even now in death
And though I cry, my dear, be still;
My death and His are of His will.