Prey Tell of the Church Fate

So we forge onward through lonely valleys of pious pretense
No healthy prophets encountered outside these steely inquisitor’s eyes
No men of any monotone god we could stand proud beside
They and their gilt-riddled baubles cast onto the blazing temple pyres
Holy whore houses proudly reduced to ashes of sweetest desecration
Soporific spirits quaffed from dusty, sightless skulls
Strong-heart would not entertain their malady
Weak of will tangled in leprosy
Spiritual sickness babbling incessantly
Babbling Babylon put to the torch
Pinched faces staring through funereal fog
Felt flame broiled crook’d hands a’grasp
Ground them to fine dust, snorted them deep
Left coated in confusion, with my lack of sleep
You that seek to encode reality, to defraud sanity —
Be damned!
You that seek to incarcerate spirit, to calcify astral eyes —
Be damned!
Be mindful that mind is not you
Be mindful that you are not mind
Be mindful that heart knows how this goes
As real as Azrael?
Don’t mind — never mind
Don’t mind — never mind