The Killing Gods

Pawn of the undead, tell me

What drives the herd to the altar?

To sing, his songs

To kill in the name of the father?

As subjects, seraphic, so mesmerized

Who speaks, from the air

Through words in text-bound fiction?

Aeon, epochs...

What binds the flock to these illusions?

Unquestioned, apocryphal, arcanum ...so obsolete

Penetrate the myth and artifice

Are we not still brothers, born from flesh alike?

Yet that burden's on your back, handed down through time

Its coils grip firm, its forked tongue spits

The written word is law, there's ʹno god but god,ʹ after all?

The names will change from one nation to the next

Yet one word joins them all - megalomaniacs

Minerva's owl is dead, the zealot's arrow struck

Spiral, spin, logic drifts, into the dusk

Breaking the bread, inquisitors arrive!

Anathema decreed

Duplicity, deceit

Off with their heads, they will say

Embodiment of faith

Riven in disgrace

Off with their heads, just the same

Merciful and kind

Holy and divine

Off with their heads, either way

Sanity and peace

Ever out of reach

Off with their heads, it's too late

No maps point back from this place

When damnation calls, the confessor leads the way

Messengers of god

Cut their throats and praise in rapture

Mental malcontents

Spewing forth fairly tales

History is spent

Carving up minds of men

Sleepwalk through life

To caskets waiting, open wide

Dead axioms

Binds the past through broken hymns