Legend of a Serpent Mind

Despise me, wretched malcontent,
Your anger shan't abate,
I'll show you endless wonders and
Pinnacles of your hate.

Cast down your childish china doll,
And let him cry alone,
He's strengthening his palling hands,
So called, if you were stone.

Yet soon, so soon, abhorrent ape,
He'll shoot you in your tracks,
And leave the spurning man to rot,
To take up army pacts.

Behold, trench-dwelling death machine,
That you bore from your seeds.
And emulates your sore demise,
The macabre deeds he needs.

Machines do rust with time, they say,
As did your brainwashed ape.
He roamed the land to make his heir,
With tricks, with lies, with rape.

And filth begets the spawn of filth,
Ay, this bloodstained sword shan't sheathe,
For generations yet to come,
Enter on stage, the thief.

The thief begat the prostitute,
The _____ begat the fighter,
The thug begat the perjurer and
The liar bore the blighter.

And so it goes in such a way,
That holds true to your name.
You're dead now but your legend lives,
To bring regret and shame.

Beast, are you satisfied,
With your abandoned spawn,
Victor, such ironic name,
Son of Mary, so forlorn.

Despise me, wretched malcontent,
Your anger shan't abate,
I'll show you endless wonders and
Pinnacles of your hate.

And yet, you cannot banish me,
Through furtive countenance,
I am the ruin of your name,
Your sinful conscience.