The Apocrypha of Abraham
A wicked council of elders robed in white and crimson,
Sit fat atop a tower to ruminate on sin and manipulation.
Decrees from ancient tomes and texts written in history,
Declare our origins in an operant opera of consecrated mystery.
With pretty puckered lips whose sounds ring farcical pious flops,
They play make-believe games adorned with papal tiaras on their tops.
Fear of demonic entities along with a promise for passing into heaven,
Shepherd their sheepish followers who find superstition in number seven.
Those of us in the audience, however, can see the satire in their theaters,
And applaud with sardonic apathy at these Shakespearian conspirators.
The pope and the rest of his papal and priestly pedophiles deserve a curtain call,
For their meaningless maniacal theatrical actions have, between us, built a wall.
Feed not the golden glutenous greed that devours our unsaved souls,
Of these thespian Vatican witches and wizards who thrive on world control.
Along the lies of the Bible's tales belie Abrahamic codes,
With its triplets, Quran and Tora, who all move by the same old modes.
This triumvirate is but three variations of the same beliefs,
About why we're here yet lie and steal your soul like a pocket thief.
Wars of swords have slashed in bloody and insatiable inquisitions,
Enough human lives with the three religions' powerful positions.
We are here but to be bound together by our ability to love,
And not be bound by books that blind our eyes to what's above.
Believe not what's bound in the apocryphal Abrahamic texts,
And learn to empirically learn and see what for us is next.
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