Man-made doom bled death from the sky;   to all but a few, salvation was denied   «Heavenly father, son and holy ghost,  save your servants (those of us who aren't toast)»     The not-yet-dead discovered that to be   a nuclear family means a whole new thing;   All-too-trusting shambling pseudomorphs   put their trust in a man of the cloth     Make them hate you, rotting cleric...  Remember, you are pu of my loins, you are pus     Give voice to your left side, let me in:  I've sawn the seeds of your redemption;  In subhumanicide, I am your guide:  seventy-seven times make them die    The sun is shining on a brand new day  Blackened corpses smolder where they slain;  Self-flagellation prompts him to confess:  «Bless me father, for I made this mess»     Immolation meant to purify sin wracked souls   Let diseased bodies die; survivors twice lost:   Betrayed in fire, by the Swine of the Cross