A Reading From The Book Of

This masquerade is a massacre. Another stained-glass serenade. These halos hang
 over our heads like vultures circle their prey. Your hands are washed white but
 your eyes are the darkest I've seen. Your hands are washed white. Foul deeds
 will rise like ghosts of gods through the steeples. Foul deeds will rise like
 smoke and soot from the stacks. Foul deeds will rise. Heracy fills our lungs as
 we breath it. Foul deeds will rise like the incense that burns. You're running
 this race, but you've been running the wrong way. Dark shepherds have led their
 sheep astray. They demonize, rationalize, for what? For who? Foul deeds will
 rise like ghosts of gods through the steeples. Foul deeds will rise like smoke
 and soot from the stacks. Foul deeds will rise. Heracy fills our lungs as we
 breath it. Foul deeds will rise like the incense that burns. Call the choir to
 light the pyre. Call the choir to light the fires. Your hands are washed white
 but your eyes are the darkest I've seen. Your hands are washed white but this
 place smells of deceit. This burning fire will never be enough to quench your
 blood-lust.