Christ was born dead. Whom will mankind choose to create the fable of all fables about now?
Succumbed to the birth, fable’s incomplete In the dirtiest of all the cradles A bloody fetus lies Hear the cry of the hopeless ones Those who won’t survive Without the taste of blood in their souls
The final breath, a dead child, the moon The sulfurous breeze blowing Let’s contemplate the tragic beauty of death…
Wails in vain, tears turn into blood Before the horrible scene In which a fallen angel begged for life The so-called Son of God hadn’t time to bite the apple Nor tasting the sin It’s the end of the heaven’s dream on earth…
Christ, the fallen one: No time enough to be praised No time enough to “love the fellowman as for himself”…
Salvation never reached, saviors never seen Ashes of destiny thrown to the wind By never existent hands Other gods were usurped, other myths were sacrificed To please their insatiable hunger For fresh meat and ingenuousness
The messiah was born dead No life, no resurrection But his sons still to gnaw his rotten carcass…