I messed up the rhyme scheme, so sorry.


Turn me back from those pearly gates—

Alas, poor child, I've come too late.

I shan't enter—never can.

I belong to Traitor's land.


The serpents writhe around me,

At his beck and call.

"Welcome, brother," they say,

"Welcome, beloved son," one and all.


For I am he, that Judas,

The one who kissed the King.

For I am he, Iscariot,

Who only played the part set before me.


I did as I was bidden, for didn't the Father tell me to?

I did as was written, eons before ever I set foot on dirt.

"Father, Father," I've heard He cried—

but what of me?


Father, Father, what of me?

I am only what you made me, I am only as you formed me—

And I here I rest, here in Hell, here in

Traitor's paradise.


Did I set out to betray Him, perfection?

Of course I did not—and it couldn't have been only the Serpent

That dared to enter my mind, that dared to stir up the thoughts—

Father, Father, what of You?


And they dance about me, writhing and moaning,

Laughing at me to join the fun.

And they twine about me, daring me—

And I've been here so long.


Father, Father, what of me?

I am only what You made me, only what You gave me.

Why did You make me so weak?

Why did You make me to betray the King?


Turn me back from those pearly gates—

Alas, poor child, I've come too late.

I shan't enter—never can.

I belong to Traitor's land.