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The King of Sorrow's woke one day, his hands were dirty, clothes were frayed
He shook off chains, and rust, and grime, the thorntree to his side in dust
He walked, alone, through memory lane, but all he sought to see was pain
He met a traveller on the road, he begged him stay at his abode
A stone-throws distance from the spot, where the casket layed to rot
The thorn tree, even now it seemed, was eating him alive in dreams
But this fair traveller, dressed in white, didn't seem to mind his plight
He only took him to His home, and spoke no words, once there, alone
He took a pipe from the farthest wall, and a chalice filled with gall
And in His hand, a moonstone glowed, a chunk of rock that filled the bowl
He bid Damien to inhale, as smoke plumed upward in a vale
The King of Sorrows fell asleep, and dreamed the Demons, as they reaped
The thorntree, the priest, the succubi, the jackals, the swine, all there beside
And Satan laughing, spread his wings, again to tempt of evil things
But amidtst the chaos stood, the traveller, in an off-white hood
And in his hand, a sword so bright, that every demon fled the night
"This dream is different" said the Man, who stood alone, holding his hand
He showed him a high place, amid the pines, there was a Sacred grove inside
A robe, with sleeves, and a stole, was sitting there beside a bowl
The bowl held blood, it was a Lamb's, and Damien began to understand
The thorntrees weight, was just too great, because it came from Evil slate
Said the Traveller, to Damien, the very first time, "It's finally over, you've left it behind".