The Saint

Your lies have consequences, 

Your brutality gets its payback.

You can't be a saviour when all you do is save yourself from redemption.

Body so young, clothing so millennium

Yet thoughts of a medieval diva.

Unicorns and angels are a myth

The world you've forged over and over in your head is a deception

You tell yourself you're a humorist Saint 

But hurting someone's feelings isn't humour. 

So, 

Go on, get your retribution 

But at what cost? Your virtue, your abstract anima?