Ghandi's Bagel
Friedrich Nietzsche steps out armored in a towering suit of steel
His spear is dripping, crimson with the deathblood of a God
His lips drip caustic words of maddened truth and eyes reveal
Bleak prophecies too potent to maintain the sane facade
The black madness spreads, consuming- mind to mind it ever grows,
Eating nations as the entrees, in an vicious feast of fire
And the secondary prophets of the madness now propose
That we eat and drink and fornicate as Nero plays the lyre.
Like a nihilistic patron at a New York bagel shop-
"Make me one with everything,
Absolutely everything,
Blood, shit, tears, and everything,
Feed me nothing, till I pop."
A mother's love is offered- a mother's love's too weak.
Romance is insufficient for the purpose that we seek.
The passion of the the protest, the wisdoms of the east,
All bend in singularity, fall into the darkened feast.
Yet I seem to see a crack in the great dragon's mighty scales
For the spear that Nietzsche found was doomed to Glory in the end
And its blood ran mixed with water as a balance for the scales
Resurrection offers freedom, from "delights" that waste and rend.
So we step into the water as we're flayed of all our sin
And we weekly eat and drink the purging draught we sing about
Giving pleasure up for passion, then receiving it again
Vessels made to take in glory then return, break, and pour out.
