On bleeding knees the faithful feel no pain
The sinews in their arms are tight, reaching up
To you who all hope is given to so willingly
Their sacrifice a currency to justify their faith
The tears are as salty as the blood shed for you
No questions are drafted to investigate the payment
Yet there are coaches lined up with hopeful passengers
And teachers scare little children in your name
A curriculum of fear is used to determine and build faith
So prayers and our young are given to a God swinging smite
The pain is a suffering made into a rule that must be followed
And with 3000 gods wretchedness and sacrifices are still petitioned
While birds sing and clouds bounce their way across the sky
Mothers prey for their children to not befall disfavour of the robe
All-powerful, all mighty, full of discipline and benevolence
Perhaps a simulacrum, or maybe you are actually a god
But I know, you are not.
Anthracite 