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But This Church Prays To Many gods
Why 
 In this Church 
 Are the most faithful of the Stained 
 The hearts etched in glass, 
 And those who're shining the brightest
 Those who can naught but break, bend, and refract the light, 
 Who cannot even lift their voices to heaven, 
 But only their
 Eyes?
 
 But perhaps that is why
 That, though they are composed of frigid stone, 
 They feast their eyes, feeling the fire of the Holy Refiner
 And now burn more feverently than the 
 Living
 Breathing,
 As they wait in Anticipation
 For the final of the faithful to Fall
 Silent,
 And the last loving pastor to be infected with Lies,
 So they can cry out to God
 And 
 Sing;
 For forever their purpose and forever their worship is to call us Home
 And silence themselves again.

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