More Whine

 

I

Oh Why, oh my, sigh – no pie in the sky;

can't dine with the twelve disciples and Jesus.

While all the ministers, like dogs abide;

under the table, eating breadcrumbs, lice!

Didn't I Karen enough, to cancer the crews

into screwed nuts and bolts, putting Colts in Stew!

So why am I not the Chosen Pun to Avarice?

II

More Whine, more pathos, than could vie

Lucifer Morningstar – just notice me, Master!

I will record all your enemies darkest viriles;

sitting on your lap, making schemes and devoir.

Senpai, make me your yandere queen; fasten

the pelts, as the solemn strangle holds. Cast them

into Golems, soulless in the desert for Nehustan, Sire!

III

Alas, my lord, I hath to pry – is that a thorn?

Out with your eye, and off with your ears, dare

to explain: Why bordered with Treason, Scorn!

Only Jezebel deserves to sit on left-right; sworn

for the Whore of Babylon title, no Hare

can grasp nor wrest it from my claws I dare;

until the prophet of the Beast arives to Bourne!