Altars

Centuries accumulate, bearing witness to insipid confinement
 Lungs fill with dogma, ashes bestowed by the holiest wars
 The despicable cleric indulges his twisted fantasy
 I shall not succumb to thee, purloined of power
 I fill upon the altar with the wrath of a thousand tortured heretics
 In a bestial possession to punish the minions of the lamb
 We'll feast on the flesh of the holy servants, a divine banquet to feed the hungry
 Drink their blood, a sacrifice to martyrs of reason and countless victims
 In remembrance of those forgotten and banished to the fringe
 Trampled to dirt and roasted like spoils of the hunt
 The lamb breathes in his dynasty
 Does he cower or gyrate in ecstasy, drunk on power?
 Shall I kneel before the holy god of rape and war? Shall I bow to the father of irony?
 To the son of insanity? I shall kiss the goat