A god’s puppet with tape-on wings 

All it takes is a hammer to nail them down

He tries not to move, yet won’t feel a thing

Who knew what irony this facade could bring

Here in the cellar, his words are bound

There is no more sea of blood for him to drown

Sober as a wooden board floating towards shore

Still he tries to trick us into giving more

“Look into my eyes and I’ll show you free

You say, working as a slave is such a bore!

My ‘job’ is more than you mean to me

More ways to fly than what you see”

Something about this prisoner of “light”

Leaves me thinking he’ll try to take flight

But he’s mad as the evil many a god fosters

His sickness taking lives, creating monsters