What is that flowing robe of piety:
that cloak of being good?
Beneath your robe is foolishness:
you love not like you should
You wear the crown of sacredness;
and you boast of the age old way:
While turning away the multitudes
and silencing the brand new day
You smell of the sweetest incensed coals;
you welcome the title: "divine"
Yet, you're fully aware: you're fooling them all:
those visitors to your shrine
Collecting your securities from baskets of alms:
you paint this picture of love
While failing to begin to live it at all:
angels speak of your deception above
There'll come a day when the books will close
and the temples and churches too
We'll see them the wolves in clerical garbs
and wonder about all that they do
Brainwashed for centuries the sheep of the way
will scatter both far and so wide
And ponder the mystery of imprisonment
that their teachers so secretly applied..