Modern Grotesque Lyrics

Noble preacher of the cardboard pulpit, your sermon will be worshipped by rats. Broken bottles pull blood from your gums, and I want to taste Christ when we kiss. "I'm a drifter who's wandered through shafts of light. I am hunted by the sound of trumpets bellowing over the hills. Maybe I wasn't speaking clearly enough," he said. "some things were never meant to be seen by lowly man." His eyelids were painted black. "I am but clay and I am shaped by the words etched in my skull. Maybe if I split myself wide open, even you could believe the things I've seen. Sinner, believe in what I've seen. I've seen the face of the creator, and I fear his hunger, his teeth. What sort of fool would refuse to believe?" He stood illuminated by the fire in the barrel. What was he burning there? The air was thick with the stench of meat and hair. He raised his hand up to the clouds. The smoke clung to him in a shroud. A shard of glass glimmered in the fleeting rays of sun. Then he brought it down, hard and fast between his ribs. One swift shot to the ribs. He raised his hand again to touch the face of God. He just kept plunging downward and downward. Two in the hands, one in the feet, then one in his throat. Five holy wounds. The blood, how it flowed. The martyr, the modern grotesque.