Murder Then Religion

We should kill him
No one would know
Who would miss him
We need his blood

That sweet, sticky syrup of life
We need it to wash our sins
To cleanse our spirits
To free our minds

Maybe you'll be a medicine man
Our shaman of divination
We can erect great brick cages
Trap the souls we crave

We'll be our own religion
Succubi of divinity
Feasting at the fleshy trough
Consumed by madness