SORROW OF THE CRIPPLE

Kind of in the style of one of my favorite bands, Virgin Black. Dark yet with sorrow.

SORROW OF THE CRIPPLE
Agony screams through out this contorted frame of a man
Flesh hangs, clinging to bones of rot.
This body suffers as a lame.
Every breath a mother's shame.
Cursed to this,
living in damnation.

Tears like acid born.
With each sob, angels mourn.
Brittle hands reach out.
Prayers are whispered.
Take the pain of scorn.
All I have to offer is my crown
made of thorn.

Sores leave the flesh torn.
In sorrow angels morn.
A mother's agony, in shame I'm born.
My lips seek the feet of The Holy One.
I'm covered in the crimson of sin,
crying out to be adorned in the purity of snow.
COPYRIGHT 2009: MATT THOMPSON