Thorny Crown

And God cried from withered eyes
As he watched his Babylon burn,
The paint peeled from his creation,
Beneath a blackened moon,
The raven cawed his psalms to death,
As the widow played a mournful tune,
While suffering the stigmata
Of a thorny crown.

Crying tears of pain, she wailed
Her woes at a world gone mad,
Debaucherous indulgence,
Saturated in crimson blood,
She lay there in a bed of roses,
Impaled upon their thorns,
Trying to relive a memory
Held within the thorny crown.

I stood upon the balustrade,
Eyes firmly set below,
As the minstrel in the gallery,
Drew soft whispers from her bow,
Sombre thoughts of suicide,
Enticed me to my doom,
A tempting invitation
To wear that thorny crown.

Within a cold and rain-swept wind
An angel cried in vain,
Her heavenly home was burning black,
Her wings of down, bloodstained,
She murmured words of Armageddon,
And told of Satan's gains,
The genocide of innocence
Had cracked the thorny crown.

The widow with the violin
Played her agonizing notes,
As the screaming choir sang love's refrain,
To hail the withered rose
Whose petals trampled muddy ground,
Beneath footprints of pain,
Impaled upon the spikes of agony
From the broken thorny crown.

Still I looked down at the water
From my balustraded perch,
Cold, profound and luring,
Inviting me to berth,
Within its deepest blackness,
Where all my pains would drown,
To wash away the clotted blood,
And heal the wounds of the thorny crown.

And God can cry his tears of gloom
While Satan roars his triumph,
I've made my choice, this is my fate,
My decision, I'll rely on
To ease the burden of my madness,
As the widow plays her violin,
My last refrain will fade away,
Like the decaying thorny crown.