The Stench of Fetid Afterbirth

Mary's in your front yard,
The blessed mother for all eternity.
I look upon your virgin,
A bloody whore is all I see.

Jesus died upon your cross
To save you from your sins,
But only if you make-believe
That such a man had lived.

The rancid blood that was maybe bled
Wasn't bled for me.
This I will keep chanting,
For my god is me!

Your crucifix is a frightening symbol
Of your religious creed.
Worshipping torture and cruelty
Is how one is freed?

Christ deserved to die!
Getting the mindless to follow
His pious delusions
And promises hollow.

Your god is dead I do believe;
He can't hear how loud you scream,
But still you fall down to your knees,
Drowning in your wretched dreams.

I burn the Bible,
And I tear down the cross.
You harm the innocent,
None can return their loss.

Let him who is without sin throw the first stone.
I'll smash your rotten face in
As I gladly toss first,
For I am without sin!

For I ride a pale horse,
And Hades follows its feet,
And my hounds as well follow.
I live to see your Christ in retreat!

---

Originally written:    January 11, 2003; January 25, 2003
Put online:    February 8, 2003
Discussion:    I came up with this poem after dealing with some acute religion issues. Fetid afterbirth, of course, refers to Jesus and the rottenness of the Christianity scourge. Get it? Bwa-ha-ha-haaa! Fuck Jesus!


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