Theological Roots.

I will measure time in tiny blocks
I have seen the fall
Of the elders and the temple
I have seen it all collapse into pages
Made of faith
And a mistaken twice-born wraith
Nestled in between the ages that fly through me
In tiny blocks enough for
The porous glaze of a church window
And the faux smile of the patriarch

Long live the withered
Long live the dead
Long live the man with thorns on his head

Dirt is not forgotten
And the market demands a little more
The price for faith is mutilation
The price for faith is
A quick blow to the ego
But the market demands something more
The Gentile smile and pray
With closed palms
And the entropy-boys shout vitriol
And stockpile needless arms
One day they will all come back and the capital
Will wither

Long live the beaten
Long may he sing
Long live he who heaven-on-high proclaimed king

The trigger finger itches
With sand in ever crevice in between
And in the eyes of the blind
And the visionary children
Who poke out the eyes of their parents
Especially the eyes in their mind
That burn with the image
Perpendicular lines
Bearing the meek
For a long and harsh
And bruising week
That burns in the brains of
The faithful
And all
That burns in the brains of
The faithful

Long live the martyr
Long live the son
One day in God's eyes we will all be one