Ecce Home:
Breaking.
Cords pulled taut.
The dwarf leers, turning the wheel,
The Wheel of Fortune turns.
Bursting sinews and rending veins.
Frothing mouth and sightless eyes.
Impaled, oh Pinnacles of Pain
Confess.
Confess.
You are the Pestilence and Plauge that sweeps the land.
Confess.
A fallen pox-ridden Cherub,
A nightwalker,
A magus,
A lover of  Bacchus,
Ravager of the Church's daughter,
Confess. Confess.
Or enter into ever-consuming sheets of freezing flame…
Prima est haec ultio quod se
Iudice nemo nocens absolvitur.
Amen.
Left blind in Death's starved Valley
Dwarves and black-cowled Clerics banished.
No longer at Fortune's breast do I sucker,
No longer her mummer I.
Walker, follow the broken-winged angels home.