You wear your religion like a brand,
Name only and judgement in hand.
Smiling and talking like you know what it is to be pious,
You have a way of converting this encounter into a riot.
If it's all about the looks,
Then all you stand for is nothing compared to the Sacred Book.
Your life is lived in the shadows,
A mirror image of your parents' lavish clothes.  
Rage, jealousy and animosity is your forte,
and you have a degree in philosophy,
but if your brand is love and understanding,
then what do you know?
Oh my brother, oh my sister, oh my daughter, oh my son,
Why are you so quick to rule?
When are you done making yourself a fool?