Winter fortress

All manner of riff, raff and trash

The unholy, the ugly, the unintelligent

They flock the church

In a procession of silent adoration

Hopeful hymns forming in their hearts

That never dare leave their lips

It isn’t a beautiful structure, the church

But it beguiles in its solitude, in its lack of apparent beauty

Leaves the viewer in the lurch

In a land of excess in the way of gleaming glass tower

This tome made of the earth stands like a warlock in power

Written to completion

With bricks of contradiction

Particles of dark secrets, so fine they’re almost colloidal

Collide with sterling specks stolen from the Nephilim 

Ancient gums of tempestuous love

Piece them all together

Giving the institution a stench that

Altogether cannot be ignored

Like dogs drawn to a bitch’s piss

They come sniffing greedily

Put off in the gut, turned on in the gonads

But the unholy, the ugly, the unintelligent

They’ve been deceived wholly

For, the church isn’t a church at all

It is a winter fortress

A glacial manor

Closed for renovation, go away