I writhe to feel
Your lost ordeal
Of wasteful foolish ways,
The disparaging thoughtless daze,
In which ceaselessly you reel.

Like He I am
Whom once came
With Light for blinded eyes,
For which on cross he dies
In ritual, again and again.

I am a fool
To think that you
Could see the Light I give,
The blight by which you live,
Ridiculing universal rule!

But a fool it took
To make you look
At your wasteful, illusory living;
Where, unto the wasteland driven,
You may appease whatever you like.

For little sense
In repentance
Can be seen by minds too blind:
Too blind to see the Light I shine
To release you from your sentence.