Preach: ‘well I don’t want to complain, but I find the world insane’ – bjansch

you sold lies like indulgences,
in the name of love but to benefit none,
and gathered souls with condolences
that all those debts were paid in blood;
you paved a path with relic’s bones
to march the truth right through the mud,
and hid these theses from the world
lest they discovered or understood
just who you were in monument,
your stone of mundane deeds,
no God nor angel’s opposite
could hold you to true creeds,
but on that old oak doorway,
like the rood at Calvary,
you’ve left behind the very nail
that brings you to your knees.

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