O’ evil Man.
It is not your gods who task you so
At their celestial balls, they laugh
“silly little mood slaves”
Primed to vomit sour wine,
feast after bloody binge.
Who plays moral gatekeeper,
celebrated purveyor of righteousness?
Who the masked scoundrel?
Cross-dressed wolves and lambs
in demonic jig.
A lively game to wile away some
Our children obscured in armament.
So many souls to devour.