Taxed by God, Robbed by Men

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 They speak with silver tongues, draped in flags and faith,
Promising justice, peace — or a righteous wraith.
But behind their eyes lie truths deformed,
Sharpened into blades, perfectly formed.

They call it holy, they call it just,
But all it hides is greed and dust.
A war of faith? A war for peace?
No — it's a war where mercy finds no lease.

Violence, their anthem; war, their creed,
Feeding on ignorance, power, and greed.
They forge their weapons in rooms of gold,
While outside, the young and poor grow old.

Truth lies bleeding beneath their boots,
As they march with chants and twisted roots.
History bends to fit their mold,
And stories are sold, bought, and retold.

They shout of borders, of sacred land,
With trembling rage and trembling hands.
But what they guard is not soul or sky —
It’s the illusion of control, wrapped in a lie.

Not God, but gold they serve with pride,
Not truth, but power stands at their side.
They twist the prayers, distort the lore,
Till love becomes a tool of war.

They walk in robes, untouched by dust,
Their hands unsoiled by work or trust.
Clergy without calluses, preachers without pain,
Bathe in incense while others are slain.

A sacred brothel of pious lies,
Where prayers are sold and freedom dies.
They speak for gods, but kneel to kings,
Their scriptures tied to puppet strings.

And the people… oh, the people!
We dance in the smoke, confused and blind,
Like moths drawn to flames we’ll never unwind.
They torch the world, then call it fate,
While we buzz through the fire they fabricate.

Children with eyes too old for play,
Mothers whose hopes are burned away.
Fathers with names no books will know —
Buried beneath the wars they sow.

They steal not only peace, but bread,
And feed their gods while the people beg.
Religious politics: a sacred scam,
A wedding of thieves in prayer’s program.

They loot the treasury with holy hands,
And crucify justice across the lands.
The tax of faith, not declared,
Is stolen soft, while no one dared.

“Build this idol, fund this feast,”
While hospitals starve and schools decease.
The sick grow sicker, the hungry wait —
But priests and politicians decorate.

They are not priests — they’re kings in disguise,
Draped in scripture, but dealing lies.
Their altars are accounts offshore,
And every hymn is a fiscal war.

All holy wars are just shadows cast
By selfish men, bound to the past.
No God delights in blood-soaked lands,
No sacred cause needs shattered hands.

What holy path can justify
A child’s scream beneath a burning sky?
Yet still we cheer. Still we trust.
Still we offer up our dreams and dust.

Why do we feed the serpent’s skin,
Even as it coils within?
But truth —
It waits in quiet hearts,
Among the broken, torn-apart.

Not in swords, nor battle drums,
But in a whisper:
“No God ever asked for this.”
So sharpen not your knives, but your mind.
Let no flag or god your soul bind.
See through the stage, hear past the cheer —
For every liar fears one thing:
A people who see clear.



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