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Netherworld ©

Graham Donachie
Victoria, Canada
2006

All along the lanes oí my selfish life
from the moment I was born
unto this hour of my greatness,
a diamond hoof Iíve worn.

I am but a soulless wayward,
whose fate has been foreseen,
by pious folk who live their lives
believing an excremental theme.

I ever had the state of choice
to choose who I could be,
but my downfall is predicted.
by fools of the Holy See.

Iíve toiled by the strength of the venom hate
that flows through my ebony vein,
Iíve survived theological questions
with answers so obviously plain.

In the cobwebs of my silken self
where no eyes have ever seen,
my hate, in the bosom of a nether life lives,
where love has never been.

I sneer with glee at the mortal man
who falls in love by chance,
his present is ruled by a yesteryear
with no future for loveís dance.

My joy is the search for wandering souls
whoíve lost their earthbound way.
I offer them my redemption
with just a slinky price to pay.

For the needle stab of instant joy
and the snort of cocaineís mist,
those fools have no recollection
of what Christ-promises theyíve missed.

So my quest it just gets easier
as I skip through this century.
When will you ever see the things
that you should look to see?

On my icy throne in my netherworld,
I scorn the Bethlehem child,
I howl at your sacred choice,
For.. Iím the true saviour of the mild.



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