You're on your knees before the dead,
beliefs hanging by a simple thread.
You praise the corpse - ignore the live,
Misguided in your desperate strive.

Hanging like a devil puppet,
dangling on temptation strings.
Stapled to the holy wood,
Waiting for the truth it brings.

What do you know? What have you found?
Praying long, without a sound.
Your knees are stained with Blood,
as you sprawl within the mud.

Spit the body of Christ on the floor.
Can you see your soul lifting free?
A cerimony of tearing loose.
I am the way, can't you see?

The pages of the righteous book,
burn freely with the soul it took.
A crown of thorns you may wear,
for a lonely look from those who care.

Bury faith within the cave,
only to come crawling back.
Now you lead another hand,
into this lighter shade of black.
 
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