They are officials of the state religion
They don’t have Muhammad or Jesus in the piety,
But the tentacles of their filthy sink deep
Into the placental matrix of the revolving state
The crudeness and repugnance of their faith
Obviously and deeply funded by the state coffer
From the jeopardized tax payers,
Managed by their blameless adherent son
Nourishing all with absolute power
To put poor sons of the soil on the coffle
In nemesis for their contrasted sanctimony
Down to the common grave of seven men.