You chose to wear the crown of thorns. You chose to carry the cross.
Don’t blame me for your burdens. I don’t want your grace. I don’t need to be saved.
All the witnesses will burn. They’re living in borrowed time; they’re speaking in borrowed words.
A sinner by any other name is still a sinner. Your hate by any other name is still misguided.
God is dead, so are those who wallow in his footsteps. Bargain with misguided hate.
I don’t owe you anything and it’s time to sever the right hand.
I am not the poet-laureate, I’m not the lamb, I’m not the pied piper of pious patrons.
They were always martyrs in their own right, give them recognition, let them die it’s all they’ll ever have.
I was a diligent servant.
Then made into a braggart soldier.
Now I call the shots.
No longer alienated.
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