Satyricon

Wonder how it would be to be the great Redeemer
the one to bestow upon you life and death
the one to poison you when you're down
or to be the one to hand you the crownofthorns
when your hands are sore
(and) to save you from the everything you care for
Are you bitter when you see how pale you are?
Do you feel hate without direction?
A kind of seed inside you that never blossoms
It is at the gallows end one forgets that everything
has to have a greater meaning
An unrecognisable call drags you towards the unspoken word
to suffer Martyrdom for the others
The Saviour cut off your wings, somehow just to remind you that He exists