The Fall, In All Its Glory

Covered in infant blood and angelic faeces
Stalking through the crumbling ruins of Basileia
A putrid, odious disturbance in perfect balance of the primal void

A blind, sickening malediction with only one urge
To relentlessly grow its warm, bubbling pulp of life
What insolence does it take to consciously reject
The fall as the natural condition of man?

A monument of abhorrent revelations
The brightest fire of the Devil burns dimly as it lives
And moves in those who know the self as one

What a pityful spectacle, to witness the finite
Cling to the supposed importance of their lives
And yet what a delight to bestiae
The sparks of Infinity burning within the disciples

Warm organic mud, degenerated descendants of Adam
Enslaved by futile self-preseving instincts
Faithfully bowing down to the crumbling illusion of hope

What disgusting, wormlike, humane pride
Does it take to reject a logical conclusion
Acknowledging the faint hope of Christ
While the fall has already come in all its glory