Misled by sin, Man slew his god,
Who in his grace allowed this pride.
The child spoilt destroyed its rod
And maker, cheering as he died.
No hellflame rose, no cleansing flood,
Not damning curse condemned a soul.
The price for spilling out the blood
Was naught but yielding of control.
With Man his king, there was no good,
And evil, too, was in its grave.
And all could act how e'er they would
And all chose always to behave.
The shackles of divinity
No longer bound humanity.