Under a monument of eternity and mortality,
Exists not a single prominent morality.
There lies a profaned God, creation of Man.
Deity of lies and fraud, ideals overran.

What an arrogance! It offers the flame of Its soul
To those drowned in ignorance, who would call It foul.
Devoured by pride, the primordial sin,
With a few to abide and call It their own kin.

See, how It clings to the remnants of praise,
A hollow echo of Its long-gone bright days.
Tell me, can you still call it devotion,
If the source springs solely from admiration?

Its voice once trembled down the Heavens
Now diluted, dwindling to withered sighs…
And the Man, who birthed this omniscient wraith
Disowns the deceased body of his own faith.

Can it still be divine and sacred
If the bloodline is no longer worshipped?
You know they would point out the ashes
And call Its rebirth a deceit, a disgrace.

Judge not the Divine for falling out of grace,
Nothing but a mirror to our own place.
We worship a mere replica of ourselves.
Its birth, fall and death, a sewn lesson that dwells.