Christ Consciousness

Who are you to judge my intent?
Who are you to burn my advent?
Why would you point out my mistakes?
Why would you drink the tonic for my heartache?

If I could, I would ravage you for all you hide,
I would dissect you, until I was forced to know you lied.
I would climb into the deep recesses of your mind,
And pick apart the neurons to see what secrets I could find.

You would let me, I know this,
You would be my only witness,
Because you want me to think I have some upper-hand,
So you can take the floor right under me so I drown in quicksand.

I would chug on, though, until I reach rock-bottom,
Into the fiery recesses of Gomorrah and Sodom.
Then I would tear and eat, beat and saw,
Until the only thing I knew to do was make the flesh raw.

I feel this is the only way to truly understand your intent,
And I will burn the purples and pinks of waxy advent.
I will make you trip, I will craft your ticks and mistakes.
I will drain the tonic down the sewer, to reach your heartache.