Swansong for Solace

Burn all ye in thine heaven mocking us
From thy high perch looking 'low with distaste
Aghast at the mortals dripping black lust
Sends forth majestic Death clothed black in lace
For the verily bountiful harvest of souls
Shards of blood decorates the delicate
oval
Beautiful Hope mournfully in her hole
weeps
Frame of face that is to the dark palate
Sickeningly sweet and fatalistic
Her sharp wails like nails on a chalkboard
Pretty litanies for the metallic
dead
We trod'd on playing Heaven's gameboard
Oblivion laughs in t' face of Apocalypse
The dice decides who faces the guillotine
Sins amok til the shameful moon eclipsed
Indulge in our feast of absinthe
A salute to the overt powers that
be