A God's Death Were But A Play

A God's death were but a play
Script writers pin him to stay
In his lasting seat of demise
Dramas, operas to suffice
A day to feel fire and ice
God casts his own dice

My god has a different lot
he is spared
Nails and cross
Fit to push rocks
His shoulders broad
His destination a long shroud

To become a God through death
A common fame to our lords
Each family tree bears a few
A big branch to fill the pew
The play ends with raising the dead
Curtain falls to clear out the depended