question

The night falls harshly upon the grounds scorn
Of the devils abode,finding death a sense of purpose bled over
My open wounds aching from innocent breaths leading the holy
unto the undead lying in a churchyard naked from a world filed with
idiots confused about life after death  ....

Rather then the pretext fashion of death once asked of,dear
and favorable unto a night of such eves lost in a fable told
by pagans sipping swine around a tombstone ingraved "pastor"
Christmas...

As such confessions confused the death along the grace I offered
Illusion unto the night fall left out in otherworldly penance
playing hero with broken church bells,crying out for death too
calm the devils urge for Christ.