A mass of people,
Dressed in Sunday's best,
Led by an all knowing Preacher.
On the outside, he is smiling.
A mask of knowledge and truth.
You can't see what's inside.
You don't see the creature.
In the Church of pews,
He stands before you.
He stands superior with height.
The Preacher must stand over you.
To judge every last soul.
To save them all
With Holy Might.
You'd never know
From his exterior.
How he ended up at the bottom.
He was raised like a good boy.
Dressing nice.
Saying his prayers.
Raised on a farm of fluffy white cotton.
But all that farming caused scars.
Scars on his rough hands.
His fist tightened, gnarled.
He hits his wife.
His children.
Farming made him strong.
So he could leave a mark on his family when they've quarrelled.
The fire of sin licks his heels.
It's left him parched.
He's left in a lonely, torrid drought.
Truth is what he speaks of.
What he enforces in his church.
But hell has him chained.
All because of his doubt.
He leads them like a Shepard.
Down the path of righteousness.
He leads the sheep.
While he takes the river to Hades.
Lost souls grasping the boat.
He could've saved them too...
But now its too late.
He's on a road to Satan.
The Preacher now steals from the Church.
Earthly riches all for the taking.
He'll cheat on his wife.
He'll give into disturbing desires.
But he's still leading them to heaven.
Even though inside, he's breaking.
