How absurd the structures seem
Of false beliefs, their gods so cheap—
A fool’s feast, a hollow dream,
Too dull for minds that dare to think.

Three vague lines in sacred scrolls,
And all their writings turn to dust.
The world is built on blinded souls,
Deception thrives, commands their trust.

They bow, obey, and blindly wait,
Toil for pennies, die in wars,
Perish from injections' fate,
As lies consume them more and more.

They dream of life that never ends,
Yet never lived on Earth at all.
Like salted slugs, they crawl in chains—
Together sliding to their fall.