False Saints' Day

You peel the flesh
you gouge the eyes
you burn the bones
in search of your precious 'truth'
Did you find what you were looking for my love?

You did your digging
your own grave perhaps?
He was whispering
But could you even hear him
Over the sound of your own tongue?

Could you see the tears in his eyes
Through the flames in yours?
Did you truly want him to use his wings
or just wear out his knees?

You pulled the strings
you called the shots
Did that make it easier for you?
'Let's re-mold him' you pleaded of the gods
And having unnatural sway with them
Got your way
Did it feel good?

You can have your deities
your candles
your black masses
Because now he is tired
tired of giving things he never possessed

Tired of bending
tired of twisting

And sorry
Sorry he couldn't be what you wanted
And sorry you couldn't see it sooner.