To God Be The Glory

The weak infant is burning in his crib.
I am watching his tender flesh burning away.
The flames are blackening the body of fragility.
Clouds of smoke have filled the manger.
The child's screaming has finally stopped.

The incinerated skin crumbling faintly to the ground.
I stare at the corpse and now remove the skull.
It is time to return to the depths of doom.
As demons praise my return.
I enter my crypt and place the trophy above my shrine.

Behold!
The son of god is now dead!