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A sacrifice unto the circle of life

Impaired in every way, cast down into the dust

Who am I but a sculpture made of flesh

With seven sins to call my own

My love is poisoned

It tears apart

It turns into resentment

Within your heart

A scarecrown built on fear and greed

Affixed upon a cross to become a tool

Who am I but an icon drenched in piss

A mannequin upon a throne

My love is tainted

Dilute and drained

Its skin is worn by hatred

Into your soul ingrained

It is a shame that my temple is built on

Oppression, slavery and exploitation

Every spire that holds my emblem

Rises higher than the rest

Who am I but the philosopher

Whose works you never read

My love is stolen

Perverted and untrue

It wears a mask of goodness

To hide the hangman’s smile

It is a shame that my temple is built on

Bloodshed, warfare and mass destruction