Burn in your own hate.
Thinking all that you do and say.
Is pure…when you’re hearts not right.
Shadows eating your soul at night.
Burn, until daylight.
But you follow the crowd.
All dressed in white.
They appeal to perfection.
Whilst they tell their lies.
Their crowd’s a hoard a broken souls.
People who seem normal,
But lack flesh and bone.
And their leaders kill children just to possess gold.
When the entire congregation hasn’t a penny to hold..
So burn, hypocrite.
At the sight of my sin.
Perhaps I am digging a hole.
For you to jump in.

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