There’s nothing fickle about miracle, no trick like magic
The wizard lives long and grey, doesn’t bleed from a pinprick
The Coven in Coventry lies low, but toiling in the woods
They don’t get vindicated by vindictiveness, but justice in their hoods
They cast no spells in wells, they burn bridges with their hells
They live in dreams of bells that don’t ever ring of knells
The crosses of their losses are riding like paradise’s horses
And they know not of shame or regret, their cocoon has the flosses
The heart of cruelty may be high, men steal kingdoms. Ask not why
Truth is never spoken aloud. Loudly spoken is the compelling lie
There was burning at the stake. Inquest. Falsehoods, don’t defy!
Did the lowly touch the sky? Ask Jesus whether he did die?
The Church in its deceit’s lurch is wicked right from its perch
The pontiff’s gift to the world was his fakedom like a crutch
Millions were told, so many millions were sold. But not the brave and bold
Who saved whose soul? For all their graveyards out in the cold
So, fellows and mes dames, it’s very wise to know the games
We wear a garment of a lie, it’s shame that was what became
You have a Christian name, so you should share the onus and blame
The truth was frozen, for the chosen one was not Jesus, but was James
montes-musings.blog 
mmm.. this is a challenging one !
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