A Saint, You're Not

I saw you in your days, hastening the void, everything
that you did was self-loathing and meant to destroy
What a waste you made of blinded-eyes lives, now there's
no time for retributions, only good-byes
Now you sit with your head in your hands remembering all
the women, that you took from your lambs
 
Smite the, "Shepherd," and the sheep will be scattered,
to you, the home-wrecking you caused didn't matter and  
at your wake you wont be remembered, no we'll all stand
around and shit on your ashes
 
So preacher, come try to take what is mine, under the guise
of being an instrument of something, "Devine," and that's the last mistake you'll ever make, no matter if you're a daemon or
a saint
 
But I think, a saint you're not, a saint of nothing, a
patron-saint of mother-fuckers
 
You exalted yourself to be a leader, only for the reason  
of leading wanton women astray, so now in, "Purgatory,"
your soul will remain
No absolution for you, pride was your fault
And just remember, pride caused a fall