On this precipice, the eight stairs stare
Up.. Each.. Step.. the procession goes..
Haunted, though this house may be
By lost brothers, sisters, and deities,
Children like us were driven forward
Prodded, our parents and guardians
Drove us upward, by sins never atoned
Knowing that which cannot be known
With fear at our backs, whipping along..
Shaking my hand, a man leads us inside
Through the cellar door we thought
Went.. up.. but took us to the depths
Where we met the Unknown, He
Spoke to us through knowing men
Who showed us the pathway through
Brambles like hell for lying with them
Where those led astray would be trapped
Therein, entwined souls with earthly whims..
Women had done this, they were to blame
Processions of men would put out the flames
Just one way to save them, to put out the sin:
Sacrifice thyself on the Altar of Men.
Thou shalt have no other God before Him
Or so they say, “Him, Our One Truth”
O, Great pronouncer of pronouns,
Savior from our fears, give us your truth
Leaven us so that we leave this cellar fermented
Ready to spread your toxic seed
And in procession, bring you harvest..
Fear of the Unknown’s a rational one,
None such as when fermented by Truth
Like fire and toxin, doubt and pain,
Replace it with Truth, it all goes away
Back behind us, where He always goes
Driving on the procession..