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"Religion as a control tool"

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You walk in life upon hardened soil,

Not petals of rose and moss;

Each day you face life’s woes and toil,

And keep score by gains and loss;

You’re told each moment is schemed and planned,

By He who spoke on the mount;

And on that day when Sunday clanned,

His hymns are sung and the monies count;

Led by a book of blessed verse,

As taught by lesser men;

Their teachings fraught with the aged curse,

Only He can pardon your sin;

Sin of mind and sin of soul,

As dictated by His rule;

A single path is His goal,

And mind control His tool;

His houses built on guilt and gold,

Mansions of comfort and light;

And windows of images and colors bold,

Designed to blind your sight;

Stained glass does not a window make,

But images of mind,

Look through the glass for your own sake,

And see what you will find;

A world is there for you to dwell,

Close not your mind nor eyes;

Life doesn’t end in darkest Hell,

Nor wander in Heaven skies;

There isn’t any special place,

Where pure and sinners be;

You live in haste and die in grace,

Dust of earth and waters of sea;

For whence you’re gone and loved ones cry,

It wasn’t for His will;

Look to the skies and dry your eyes,

It doesn’t matter still;

Donations made and sermons said,

It paved His way in gold;

Praising Lord and revering the dead,

Your souls are what you sold;

Ceaseless urge to share your wealth,

To cure a common plight;

Swollen coffers filled by stealth,

Kept in the dark and hid from sight;

Heads of state who speak in tongue,

Church elders fading in their youth;

To lure and teach the very young,

Their scripted version of His truth;

From simple paths a carpenter walked,

A story told in epic pages;

Read by man, the legends locked,

But wavered as needed throughout the ages;

Words and paper bound in glory,

Binding you in shackles of guilt;

A son of God as told in story,

A carpenter who never built;

So here and now twixt walls of wood,

And ceilings golden painted;

You spate of love and all that’s good,

But sermons made of man are tainted;

The Book is real, your belief be true,

Though pages are in doubt;

Throw the yoke, begin anew,

Stand tall, be what you are about.

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