- The Faithful -

Cut out my beating heart and watch it spew
As you puncture, prod, pierce its slimy shell,
Til, writhing in torture’s distress, I yell;
One life alive in the grey face-on-face pew.
You preach, claw at your congregation (too
Few, too many plunged down to bloated hell,
Bursting, blistering from gates in such swell);
Such calloused, sordid, souls, their hell is true;
Believing one day one week will save their sin,
Save their spirit once claimed by death; what fools
To suppose salvation from shrouded pools,
When ‘tis just us faithfuls He shall let in.

So while we thrash in mad devotion’s name,
Watch those denied perish, and hang your head in shame.