In Halls Of Bethlehem

In Halls Of Bethlehem
© Surazeus
2017 09 14

The Queen of the Dead takes me by the hand
and leads me from the grave where I was born.
She crowns me king of the burning land
and gives me broken sword to plow the corn.

I stride crowded streets at the break of dawn
to lead lost people in safe garden walls.
Nobody wants to play the mindless pawn
so I sing alone by cold waterfalls.

Though I sold my soul to the devil clown
I walk nowhere lost on the signless road.
The witch by apple tree in the torn gown
teaches me to sing her prophetic code.

I stand on the flat-top pyramid square
and face the devil with the red right hand.
We battle over who can breathe the air
and who speaks the law in whispered command.

Though I hurl the devil from the blank sky
I wander alone with my broken wing.
She gives me ripe apple that bleeds my eye
and ministers my heart till I can sing.

The Queen of the Dead with galactic eyes
regenerates my soul from broken gem.
I return to church wearing weird disguise
and sing new hymn in halls of Bethlehem.