Altars

Centuries accumulate, bearing witness to insipid confinement

Lungs fill with dogma, ashes bestowed by the holiest wars

The despicable cleric indulges his twisted fantasy

I shall not succumb to thee, purloined of power

I fill upon the altar with the wrath of a thousand tortured heretics

In a bestial possession to punish the minions of the lamb

We'll feast on the flesh of the holy servants, a divine banquet to feed the hungry

Drink their blood, a sacrifice to martyrs of reason and countless victims

In remembrance of those forgotten and banished to the fringe

Trampled to dirt and roasted like spoils of the hunt

The lamb breathes in his dynasty

Does he cower or gyrate in ecstasy, drunk on power?

Shall I kneel before the holy god of rape and war? Shall I bow to the father of irony?

To the son of insanity? I shall kiss the goat