Eenie meenie little souls
How I wonder, be thou cold?
Stay thee in thy secret spot
Stripes of iron, cloth be naught

See we nothing, hear no sound
Sight omits thy tattered gowns
May death be kinder?  Death be quick?
Yes.  Death be gift by candlestick

We’ll send thee bread of molded clay
To save thee from thy wicked ways
Of clashing blood and god and skin
Inhuman made by ink of sin

For church reveals the sacred spot
Of heroes draped in thoughtless thought
Of condemnation, fears and tricks
And bearers of the candlestick