In debt, at the depths, his abode might seem like a mess.
A God whose finesse is at its' best.
The lust, the pain, Moloch is his name.
His brain, the game, avoiding the fame.
Born from darkness, like the one named Bane.
In which, it's bliss, the Dark Knight continues to reminisce.
Too fit, too ripped, He raises his right fist.
Assuring to the El, that Ishtar, He miss.
Too tall, too big, a dad to the one Holy Kid.
And a brother to the one whose name is Syd.
With rhymes, all dimes, the women so fine.
Making sure the heathens are not out of line.
In time, due time, the love radiates from the Sun.
The Great God, through Him, has lots of fun.