Ozymandias 2

They cut fair Christus with their swords Knifes that slide below the skull To mortify and purify The face of the devil And Shiva stands amidst the sand To guide you with his spear Among the spirits of the dead Who live in partial fear They tell me tales of artefacts Of objects of great power Of matter favoured by the gods To set back the final hour I cross the dunes, with stupor’ed mind To find I’m in a room The surgeon stands with bloody hand Within a scintillating tomb The maze, the dune, the artifice The endless flow of life Why build a god up o’ so high To cut him with a knife?