Kings and Counselors

Once departed I’m fated to struggle
Among the kings and counselors
In those desolate places
The broadening spaces
Meant for ruffians and thieves.

We’ll sip the brandy from God’s lips
While straining toward the sun:
Burn all the skin off our skulls
We must grow new faces!
The better to conceal our rottenness.

Predators with crowns of thorns
And scepters stolen from sepulchers
Collection has become our trade
For there’s much to do for the dead
But yet more to do for the living.


I'm still unsatisfied with the first stanza, but felt inclined to post anyway. Brutality in the comments, is entirely expected and welcomed.