The sickness is not one of choice, but of course, no disease ever is, so
Settle down and let the crowds rush in to witness a miracle
Of a sinner born with gentle arrogance and good intentions,
Only to be played on by a power as blind as faith.
There are crimes only man can commit,
So brutal and cruel, they could never hope to regain their lost innocence,
Shattered like the heart of the woman who first loved man.
The hostility spreads further than the space of heaven
Capturing beautiful angels, clipping their wings on a promise of new glory,
The words from a profit, a fallen angel, had never sounded so lovely.
These creatures emerge from the depths of whatever hell would not hold them,
And their mentality is quick to spread to the minds of the rational.
The sickness is not a choice, but I shall choose it regardless,
Its promising temptation too powerful, seducing my already malleable morals.
The pretty lies and thrilling flashes capture my devote heart,
But I cannot worship a false God without just reward.
So I let her climb inside my body, fixing the temple that traps my righteousness.
I let her wash me in tears of true believers and forgotten prayers,
All the while hoping not to attract the eyes of my sleeping demons.
The sickness is all consuming and dominant and not without its price,
For I have become as blind as the faith that ties me to broken angels,
All the while holding onto a promise of divine majesty and immortality.
And have found a comfort in the faux wings of my delusional mind,
While my demons awake with a newfound ecstasy of unknown grace and pride.
Though they have yet to discover the temptation of a repeated sin.
The sickness has evolved and spread, without nature dealing her piece,
Leading me to crave a new high to give my heart to,
So I fall under another magical spell and let the tale weave a new song into my heart,
Listening to the cries of the night, for they carry a warning no man wills to hear.
I found love where she would have never ventured.
If not for the sad cries of a lonely heart and a broken prayer,
She would have never found my ghost, hidden in the shadows of my own hell.
There is no cure for my sickness, just endless temptations and new highs to seek,
So be careful, for the fallen angel you give sympathy will lead you to demise.
I keep going to the walls filled with holy men and forgiveness,
Hoping to be bathed in the tears of true believers and devote saints.
And I wait for the day the river will have nothing left to wash away.