Pawn of the undead, tell me What drives the herd to the altar? To sing, his songs To kill in the name of the father? As subjects, seraphic, so mesmerized Who speaks, from the air Through words in text-bound fiction? Aeon, epochs What binds the flock to these illusions? Unquestioned, apocryphal, arcanum, so obsolete Penetrate the myth and artifice Are we not still brothers, born from flesh alike? Yet that burden's on your back, handed down through time Its coils grip firm, its forked tongue spits The written word is law, there's 'no god but god, ' after all? The names will change from one nation to the next Yet one word joins them all - megalomaniacs Minerva's owl is dead, the zealot's arrow struck Spiral, spin, logic drifts, into the dusk Breaking the bread, inquisitors arrive! Anathema decreed Duplicity, deceit Off with their heads, they will say Embodiment of faith Riven in disgrace Off with their heads, just the same Merciful and kind Holy and divine Off with their heads, either way Sanity and peace Ever out of reach Off with their heads, it's too late No maps point back from this place When damnation calls, the confessor leads the way Messengers of god Cut their throats and praise in rapture Mental malcontents Spewing forth fairly tales History is spent Carving up minds of men Sleepwalk through life To caskets waiting, open wide Dead axioms Binds the past through broken hymns