Now virtue's not the providence of kings
And vice is chosen by so many men
The intimations when the church bell rings
Are words that do not end with an Amen.

Now sacred acolytes are driven by power not love
And children fearful to reveal their plight.
How can we trust the smoke and pure white dove?
How can we know the darkness from the light?

And yet there is a store of store of sacred signs
And rituals that may give a person grace.
Symbols are expressions thought divine.
And allocate each person a pure space.

Though we destroy in envy and in hate
Evil's not our necessary fate.