The Lost Son

A virgin can lose her virtue
Can a whore regain it?
They’ve sent me to Jerusalem
My hands grasp the sword
My virtue has been requested
My skill in metalwork
To sin some more to repent sin
Am I a vise of doom?

My feet scrape the pebbles
My eyes kiss the morning dust
You called me there
You dragged me too
The lesser of your sons

I am to work magic
To bring peace to the holy land
The lost son
The serpent
The black soul
The many woes
You put my evil skills into your service

How strange your humour is
How fickle all the world
You called
I came and gladly so