My body is a temple
Though not yet old—
It crumbles still
It’s missing stones
And the alter’s cracked
It’s survived wars
You see
And terror
It harbors untold evils—
Spirits of those lost
But not quite forgotten

My body is a temple
Built by sinners’ hands
On my alter lies
The gifts of sinful men—
Those who have worshipped here
Some who would worship still
Cast out, by the god
Who still awaits a priest

My body is a temple,
Yes, but I am the god
To which it is devoted
I have given refuge
To many a broken wanderer
They have rested, fed
And been sent on their way
But they have not all
Been so kind
They have taken stones
From their mortar
Glass from its panes
Flowers from their vases
Light from its sconces

My body is a temple
Deep within this forest
Wrapped in vines
And shrouded in shadow
Blooming with flowers
And blazing with light
So I ask before you kneel
Do you worship here in vain?
For far have you traveled
Do you wish to stay?
For every god
Needs a priest

My body is a temple,
That much may be true
But it is not just any temple
It is mine