Our souls speak the same ancient tongue,
Old, forgotten and sacred.
You read the hieroglyphics in my mind,
With your lovely, all seeing eye.
I laid on your beautiful ceremonial table,
Poised to give you my life at the altar every night.
The most willing of sacrificial lambs,
I longed to meet my maker at your hands.
Who knew my captivating messiah,
Was just a false prophet.