The mighty golden church bell rang, 
The choir roared, kingly domes echoed, 
The wealthy minarets stood triumphed, 
Reaching heaven, on acres of lush land. 
Men majestically walked in suit and tie,
Women wrapped in diamonds and lies. 
Inside, the wooden saints stood content, 
In shower of gold coins and ornaments. 
Noble hands lifted up in His praise, 
Crying for mercy and forgiveness. 
Good words were preached. 
A thousand prayers were sung. 
In His holy and worthy name, 
The golden church bell was rung. 
Outside, a few wrinkled hands in grime, sweat and mud, 
Begged for a loaf and a shield from the sweltering sun. 
Only a single meal to satisfy the tiny stomach,
Nothing much, a granule of the temple's mighty horizon. 
The pack of wolves trampled them. 
Like blind pigeons on crumbs of bread. 
The pack of wolves praised His name, 
Cut off the grimy hands, like weeds on the rice farms they tread. 
Wolves majestically walked in suit and tie,
Wolves wrapped in diamonds and lies. 
Inside, the wooden serpents stood content, 
In shower of gold coins and ornaments.