Your Saviors, Sing Their Song

Righteous hemorrhage;

We all bleed the same, they serenade. 

Religious artifacts strewn riven,

Unsympathetically atrophied.

You can't smell the sin,

when you're sodden in gin,

leaking from your supremacy-laced chalice. 

We all bleed the same, they chant.

Cage your eyes,

It's nearly over.

Give heed to their hemic choir,

hymns polluting a resplendent pyre,

set fire

to your despondent bones.

We all bleed the same, they harmonize.

Their gore is cherished,

blindly revered.

Your cruor, rippling amongst the stonework,

they do not deign,

to watch cascade down the drain.