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Museum Of Iscariot

This song is by Virgin Black and appears on the album Sombre Romantic (2001).

Jesus lies dying in my bed, companions since birth
In this stagnant dingy haunt, he never really lived
Last night I beat him as he would not leave
My insane eyes stare at him as his welted body bleeds
Frequently I rape him as I know nothing else
He curls up like a fetus and paints his face with sadness

Now a fragment of remorse has etched
I bandage his wounds, I kiss the face of Jesus Christ but he is dead
What can I do?
You have forsaken me, you called yourself messiah, expected me to follow
But now he is dead and his prophecies with him
I will bury him not as insult to your face
As I stare at his corpse one detail disturbs me
His cold stark finger points where I have not been

From my house, a cage of rotten wood, I stumble forth to lay beneath the bush
Withered bones groan, I cultivate as the soil and I grow closer
The sun receives an empty gaze, it mourns, it knows my life is gone
No more to offer but my flesh to this soil
And a single tear marks my final prayer
A rosebud sits in the palm of your hand as I end
This flower, it blossoms

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