To My Wayward Sons (Supernatural Poetry)

The Whore of Babylon

Rising from the depths of the abyss, a sultry little pretender

Donning such an innocent, sickly sweet mask of facade

A false prophet, you claim that the angels constantly whisper

You say that in this raging war, you're in the league of God

.

You stir utter chaos with your poisonous dagger tongue

Murder, anarchy, hate, promises to paradise come undone

You stain the cleanest souls and drag them all the way to hell

Manipulate them into acts of depravity, and the sinners will sell

.

You think that you can easily break and exploit those who are weak

Whispering false prophecies and dark pledges dug into our very cores

You think that with fake Enochian chants, you can turn our cheeks

But you only have the mouth of a goat, so don't be so sure, whore.