The Lost Mockery

Where doth that black magic pure
My hollowed heart away from sour words?
And when hence shall the swords of saviors pierce
That lovely flesh never worthy of any kiss?

What shame is learned in the loss of the lie
And how cane truth be returned to nobler supply,
When which that we contort is lost of all support
And the Goodman cometh with no found retort?

Thou shall feel the fire of a thousand suns’ tears
For the tyranny ran forth on this castle for years,
Let the colors of our scared flag cover you mighty grave
And the devil smile at the pleasant way you seldom behave.

Good curses are spoken with haste, so shall I make it.
When the good Lord blesses me, count me to take it,
That black magic scourge shall cower in shamed fear
When it doth realize I, the foretold hero, am finally here.

You lie to amuse those fiendish sorts
But I caught you and fought you and ended the mort.
I saved the day the way the wicked nights stayed
And in my path left children happy to have played.

Where doth that black magic pure
My hollowed heart away from sour words?
Not here for those gleaming dear departed
Have been sweep away; alone and outsmarted.