Father

Beauty, befit for your father's lie
In a throne up high,
Watching the heathens, faux might.

Faux might, from the body of your creator's mind,
Searching forever, we will not find,
The once fabled, hallowed ground.

Beauty befit for your father's lie,
In loving hate, condemns you to die,
Killing yourself, its faith.

Rotting days lie forever ahead,
In a deafening roar he said
To the sinners, all fire.

But when the sin is that of man,
Then whe must embody the face of the damn'd,
To be man is sin, cleanse us.

Beauty befit for your father's lie,
Hiding behind the shroud of white light,
In loving hate, a savior.

Beauty befit for your father's lie,
A tyrant in power, slaves that refuse to cry,
Call him out! Faux might.