Utopia

The people lifted their bloodstained hands
in exaltation to the bloodstained sky,
and watched with awe as the blood dripped down
on their bloodstained faces and bloody eyes.

The blood from their faces was the blood in their eyes.

They lifted themselves to the god of their land,
to the perfect regard that they longed for.
Their brokenness soared in their construct above them.
Their blood rained with langour and covered their whore,

the beautiful blood on the beautiful whore.

Humanity saw their Utopia above them,
its spires and its bloody and alabaster wall.
Heads of the Men sat on spikes and on gateways,
Their grins and their teeth o'er Humanity's Hall.

The terrible splendour, Humanity's Hall.

The people bowed to themselves and their construct;
the whore of Utopia was tainted and pale.
They prayed for their god to rain beauty upon them.
They prayed for their whore, that their god would not fail.

Their whore was their god, and it ever would fail.

Then God looked upon them, His eyes steeled and grey.
He broke their Utopia, its towers did fall.
They prayed with their might that their whore-god would save them.
They prayed to their construct and prayed to its wall,

the walls of Utopia their imperfect wall.

Their prayers were not answered; their whore lay in dust.
Their god did not save them, its walls stripped of power.
Then God spoke from Heaven, His eyes deep in tear-dew,
"Man is a fool in Humanity's Hour,

a fool to believe in the imperfect Hour."