The man remembers now
back to then
a then of fear and degradation
in silence
as this man of God
taker of childhood innocence
white collar shining
a halo of shame
in the flicker of candles
stained the cloth of love
Here in this sacristy of hell
shuddering in the dark
of this so called holy place
twisted passion beneath a cross
On alters high
men in gilded dress
sell the massage of truth
be obedient and pay
While the masses
beg on bended knee
and don't really want to know
This blights their normal ways
the weekly duty of salvation
And the mitred ones
cold of heart and eye
preservers of the status quo
protectors of evil
perpetuate the stain
And who are the guilty ones
those who carry out the deed
or those who knowing
do nothing
Evil reigning
on blind eye's turning
