Sloth Is The Soul Of Dante

Upon a misty jagged hill at the edge of the town
Beautiful colours emerged as our villian's chapel glew
He was worshiped and cherished for his connection to the divine
A man so holy what evil could he do?

No more religious than the decrepit beast told of in hell
But the social ladder of these times meant he was nobel
He thought in your schools, lessons of vehemence
His main concern to molest and steal innocence.

The children so dead their parents thought perfect
But beyond their obedience was something far too disturbing
When not teaching, he would preach to the unsuspecting
They would revel in joy, whilst he laughed menacingly.

"your god is not real, he would have condemmed me by now" dante
As he corked open the churches finest of bottle wine
Glass after glass, he was poisoned by the vine
The foolish mans footing had let him fall down.

Cursing the heavens: "you daemon, you harlot" dante out loud
Light poured through the stained glass
A burst, and the panes did shatter.

Impaling those sinful hands to the church grounds
An almost deafening scream echoed through the chapel
When a man of white stood before him.

"we need no introduction i'm guessing my friend" divine figure
With much confusion the inebriated man questioned their relationship
"i am your christ and savior" divine figure.

Rage coursed through the hideous mans mind
"there is no lord, for i have sinned to the highest degree
And not a soul has dared to silence me." dante.

The tearing of flesh through holy glass
As the priest stood up, with intention to harm.

Palms covered his fists, and with one crushing grip
The shards shattered amongst his bones
Spit aimed at a divine face
From the mouth of this lazy soul.

"you think it's ok to destroy ones life for your own pleasure?
Well i will take great pleasure in destroying yours, father" divine figure

A familiar sound, of unbuttoning brushed our villian's ears
As he was released from his vile little friend
Blood flowing from the wounds
Excommunicated from his manhood.

He fell back slowly but the ground he did not hit
Soaring through the air he opened his eyes
A like or fire, his demise
His blood boils, he can do nothing but scream.

The laughter and joy of children pierced through his thoughts
He cries, weeping to the depths of hell
A much similar feeling to the children he once abused.