Wicked And Proud

Strike by strike, lash nurses his back
Driving humility into the restless brain
Chains cut into the shreds of his flash.

Bringing reassurance along with the pain
And fear of endless curse and flame ahead
He tries to beat them out every night again.

Only the screaming is filling the poor cell
Where slave of the God raises his pray
Begging to free him of carnal temptations
Strengthen his spirit and give him the patience.

And scars on his back thereafter he wears
With pride but humility mask on his face.

How could he know the ways of the faith?
Following words of his madness, he failed
Changing the spirit to meaningless rite
Obediently, gutless slave tortures himself.

Thoughtlessly tortureing emaciated flash
Tormented by hunger, he prays day and night
And millions of churchmen are praying in vain
Under the loud and pleased satan's laugh
"Forgive me, father, I have sinned"
With penitential mug to the fat prist he speaks.

So freely dropping pious tears from his eyes
He does belive it is a true holy life.

And all of shake he's waiting for absolution of the
Pope, and glad to kiss his hands when he recieves.

Strike by strike, he implements his penance again
Used living in the pain every day
In hope which he recieved from the prists
That executing will give all he needs.

And prists like one tell only single word
No one, but church can lead him to Lord
Don't dare to raise your head above the rite
No one but only church is always right.