Lyrical Lyre

Laying on the bosom of his lover,

He had a deep thought,

Suddenly outraged by jealousy,

Committed a crime so big;

Ran away covered,

With the blood of his lover,

To a point he came,

Where he could run neither way,

Quenched the thirst of vengeance,

Realised the sin he had made;

Ran away to the holy,

City of vatican,

In the high hopes of finding,

Refuge and salvation,

Fool as he was,

Trying to rest his heart in peace,

Must have forgotten an age old song,

Guilt has never let anyone at ease.

Wandering from south, east and west,

Singing glories, hymns and praise,

Along with seasons as he aged,

Preaching people about mercy and grace,

From a murderer he became,

A man of high reverent,

But every night he would,

Ask forgiveness from the dead.

Finally the good days turned into cold,

Rumours damaging reputations,

People excited to execute,

From young to old.

For he remained calm,

Through all the test and trials,

As all along he prayed,

For himself to be persecuted.

Clergy were in favour,

The mass were not,

Demanded he be executed,

As a lesson for all.

To quell the anger,

Of the enraged mass,

The man himself suggested,

To give into their demand.

When the clock struck 5,

His head flew by,

Not even in his last moments,

Did the angels come by.