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Sirkle of Onan
Hanging Garden
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A congregation is gathered here
Attending with withered fingers
A mass of shallow prayers
Repulsive and worthless
White tongues glisten and click
Lips dried with hatred they lick
And perceive with narrowed eyes
Their truth, which is theirs alone
"Our laws just
Our course now lost
We stand as one
Reason undone"
Idols worshiped
Small minds indoctrinated
Ideals brandished
False intentions
Seeping through pores
You're small
Worm-like and petty creatures
Your time shall pass
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