Winter Pale Temple

You worship on your bleeding knees,

an unholy Deity.

Open your mouth, and receive

the cold breath below reprieve–

the cold breath of self-righteousness.

And pass it on, to impress

all the winter pale people;

together build a steeple

supported by inflamed egos.

 

Know you can’t go where we go,

though.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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