Sloth Is the Soul of Dante

Upon a misty jagged hill at the edge of the town,
 beautiful colours emerged as our villian's chapel glew.
 He was worshiped and cherished for his connection to the divine.
 A man so holy what evil could he do?
 No more religious than the decrepit beast told of in hell
 But the social ladder of these times meant he was Nobel
 He thought in your schools, lessons of vehemence
 His main concern to molest and steal innocence
 The children so dead their parents thought perfect
 But beyond their obedience was something far too disturbing
 When not teaching, he would preach to the unsuspecting
 they would revel in joy, whilst he laughed menacingly
 "Your god is not real, he would have condemmed me by now"
 As he corked open the churches finest of bottle wine
 Glass after glass, he was poisoned by the vine
 The foolish mans footing had let him fall down.
 Cursing the heavens: "you daemon, you harlot"
 out loud
 Light poured through the stained glass,
 A burst, and the panes did shatter.
 Impaling those sinful hands to the church grounds
 An almost deafening scream echoed through the chapel
 When a man of white stood before him,
 "We need no introduction I'm guessing my friend"
 With much confusion the inebriated man questioned their relationship
 "I am your Christ and savior"
 Rage coursed through the hideous mans mind,
 "There is no lord, for I have sinned to the highest degree
 and not a soul has dared to silence me."
 The tearing of flesh through holy glass
 As The priest stood up, with intention to harm
 Palms covered his fists, and with one crushing grip
 The shards shattered amongst his bones
 Spit aimed at a divine face,
 From the mouth of this lazy soul
 "You think it's ok to destroy ones life for your own pleasure?
 Well I will take great pleasure in destroying yours, father"
 A familiar sound, of unbuttoning brushed our villian's ears
 As he was released from his vile little friend
 blood flowing from the wounds,
 Excommunicated from his manhood.
 He fell back slowly but the ground he did not hit
 soaring through the air he opened his eyes
 A like or fire, his demise
 his blood boils, he can do nothing but scream,
 the laughter and joy of children pierced through his thoughts
 he cries, weeping to the depths of hell,
 A much similar feeling to the children he once abused