A flower on fire does not take long to burn—
Beauty dies so easily, all so temporary.
My Fathers did tell me the vein flower sins;
Vanity was the first sin,
When prideful Satan refused his Lord.
A flower is the work of the Devil,
Blossoming at sunrise to flaunt its beauty.
They lit the flower aflame,
And I did not stamp it out,
And so the inferno did spread beyond the flower,
Bringing down the fields and forests,
Rising demons cracking their flaming whips;
They tell me suffering is good for the soul
And burning is good for the land.
We stacked the scorched bodies in a pile,
And with spears, we impaled the sinful along the side of the road,
So the pure would not stray from the path of righteousness,
And if they do still stray,
We will raise up the crosses, drive nails through flesh—crucify him!
When the dead do not frighten the living,
Let the cries of a good thief drive them up to God's great gates.
I tied the women to the stakes,
And set each ablaze—
For underneath their beauty is the face of the Devil.
Bring Hell to Earth so the harpy knows her coming fate.
It was my Fathers who told me Death is Deserved.
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