Born in the mud of disfigured faith,
Nourished with superstitios fear and lies,
They were foredoomed to be a humble herd,
Which plods towards luring light of ancient rites.
From birth and till death they spend lives in
Pathetic dressing which they as vurtue take,
In simulacrum of imaginary holyness
Covering with pathos of the ritual their futility.
Fastened with dogmas remains of their faith
The blinds lead the blinds, crowling up on their knees.
Abrading them to bones, with no hope to achieve
The light they can’t see in their proud insanity.
Prudes in golden clothes look haughtly at their herd,
Which hark reverently with open mouths,
And feed them holy-smelling backward rusk
They had recieved as spiritual inheritance.
Father, when did you wash your disciples’ feet last time?
Isn't pride and madness all you’ll leave behind?
Liars and liars’ brood, now pay your bitter price
For which your fathers dishallowed before
And wich you are still raping now
Do eat up the manna that has become the worms,
Maybe one view on your corpses after the years
Make you see the decay you were sometime deify!
