Dead whispers shake the forest,
Your arrival was foretold,
Our god, we think he's honest,
He was a young boy, bold.

Conspiracys float about you,
You're the reason that we're dead,
Suspicions of you grew,
They put a bullet in your head.

Now with the angels you soar,
Your body-dragged into hell,
Locked behind a metaphorical door,
With only your soul to sell.

Trapped in time,
You scream whispers,
Through stitched lips, stung with brine,
We are your eternal keepers.

The sinner is taught.

The End

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