| The Essees still wait for the returned Elijah,
|
| Pious devotion shackles them to their faith like a slave,
|
| The Greek gods watch down from the heights of Mount Zion,
|
| Joking that the worship of the literal doesn’t fade with time.
|
| Let me re-introduce myself,
|
| I am the son of man born, died, deified.
|
| All this dogma is bound,
|
| No effort to separate the myth from the facts,
|
| Fairy tales saying that the end of days have come at last.
|
| Was it always this simple and obvious?
|
| We were only held back by faith-based malaise,
|
| The hubris of the fallacy that only God can judge me.
|
| Was it only arrogance are were we simply that naive,
|
| Oh so convinced that we are manipulated by a divine hand,
|
| Oh so convinced that this is part of a divine plan?
|
| Anyone can touch us,
|
| Everyone will judge us,
|
| And the God above us,
|
| He doesn’t really love us.
|
| You should know,
|
| You’ve spent your whole life figuring it out,
|
| So you should know. |