The Road to Salvation Is Littered With Lies

The burning sun rose o'er the clouds
As all the people hurried.
And day begun, the church bells rung,
And every child scurried
Into the pews, as Father spoke
Of angels and of Jesus.
And all the while, the burning style
Of Father aimed to please us.
And we were glad beyond compare
To pay our penance owed,
But every word of Father heard
A deeply echoed bellow
That each and every person made,
Upon the wall and through the shade,
While all the while, good Father's style
Made swift and quick to fade.
And sure and sure, and more and more,
Good Father turned to heathens,
And how the creeping, always weeping,
People were such demons.
I raised my hand and asked him such:
"If God great mercy has,
Then why condemned? Why not ammend
His will to love such masses?"
And Father could not answer me,
Nor could the will of ages,
And so I asked a simple task,
To search the holy pages.
And Father said he read the book,
But guilt was in his eyes,
And all the while, good Father's style
Shook with shame and lies.
I looked at him and knew his fear,
And knew he knew it too.
I lowered tone and dropped the drone
That tested he so true.
And all that once I e'er believed
Was that day split in two.
The day begun, the church bells rung,
But I was not to follow.
And every day, they played, they played!
But all of it was heathen,
And I was glad good Father sad
Could know he made a demon,
For all the powers of the Lord
Could only him prescribe
The will of that which can't react,
As he would not subside.
And all the mindless followers
That once the same was I
Live on, live on, by night, by dawn,
In faith of Father's lie.