nail in palm

Upon Golgotha’s tired mound
An emperor in thorns, nail in palm
Spike in the hand that made fire
Are like the fingers that made the bomb

Would you fight in the name of Christ?
How precious to die a martyr, a saint!
Swords flung in the air aimed at the sky
Reapers of sickle and crucifix and nothing to sow
With the boldest resolve to smite the Worms
The truest of words slip from the tongues
Behind the backs of men with fingers crossed

Can you think of a better day for a lynching?
Spiders of the cloth that flutter about near the light
Stitching canons into webs of empty veins
Oh Peter, thou art a brave bullet!
Your cross cocked, capsized, charged
God Damned and aimed towards the pits of hell

Would you find it rude if I called your bluff?
I could too, try to relay the scene of a peaceful winter’s fall
Frozen photograph, sweet powder lacing, white with glow
To a curious blind man who can never know
So then, distant despot, how could I ever believe?
In a thing that won’t even come to me in my dreams

Forever in sin with pointed fingers
Shaking fists and foundations form
By an architect that constructs a tower
And lets it all to drift out to storm