The world never much cared for me...
So I raged against it.
I raged, and I burned.
Crucified, the persecution was only second nature to the mission.
Denied, I would find myself wound so tight to the plight of their lostness.
The blind would rage too, pour the gas of hatred all over the fire of the stakes they would burn me at.
I died again, and again, for your cause, knowing full well, what I agreed to.
You world, so hypocritical and critical...your compassion dwelling in the turmoil of your own hell.
So you wound me up, like a spider delivering it's threads of fate...
You wound and bound me,
And set fire to the Stake.
