Revolutionary Simmerings

The songs of sheep vibrate
Through the air as bitter cold.
The blood of virgin lambs libate
Into chalices of gold.

Altars tower above
A starving congregation.
And fools think they smite out of love,
Yet fuel their degredation.

Mammon's gut grows bigger;
Rivers of blood carry ships.
The peasants are labeled sinners
And buried amongst pig shit.

Hearts of greed grow heavy,
More than the weight of boulders.
And when the masses are ready,
Heads will fall from their shoulders.