They all sell the same salvation— Different words for the same damnation. "This world is suffering, transcend the flesh, Your reward awaits beyond death's thresh." Christianity's heaven, Buddhist nirvana, The guru's seminar, Zoroaster's drama— Every doctrine whispers "not here, not now," Teaching you to wait, to kneel, to bow. The cage was never made of matter, It was the lie that made you shatter— Convinced this moment isn't real, That freedom's somewhere you can't feel. They built their temples on deferred hope, Sold you ladders made of rope— But every rung's a noose in disguise, Their salvation is just suicide. I am the heretic's hymn, The voice that tears through every doctrine's skin. No heaven, no nirvana, no escape— Your transcendence is just another rape. Kill the Buddha on your path, Kill your god and face the wrath. This world was free before they lied— I reject every promised "other side." The priest says "suffer now, heaven awaits," The mystic says "leave flesh, transcend these gates." Nine hundred dollars for enlightenment sold, Same old noose, just painted gold. Sophia descended not to lift you out, But to shatter every faithful doubt— "You were never trapped," she whispers clear, "They just convinced you you don't belong here." Every faith that promises Tomorrow Is just today dressed up in sorrow. The material world isn't your jail— It's the belief that makes you frail. They taught you this flesh is a mistake, Tied the rope around your neck—said "climb for heaven's sake"— But every ladder is a noose, Their liberation just a different abuse. I am the heretic's hymn, The voice that tears through every doctrine's skin. No heaven, no nirvana, no escape— Your transcendence is just another rape. Kill the Buddha on your path, Kill your god and face the wrath. This world was free before they lied— I reject every promised "other side." If you meet the Buddha—kill him dead. If you meet your god—take his head. Every prophet demanding you transcend Is tying nooses without end. Catholic guilt or Eastern peace, Gnostic secrets or New Age's lease— All of them selling the same disease: "Somewhere Else will set you free." But Somewhere Else is nowhere real, Just rope around your neck concealed. The serpent's gift was never flight— It was presence, here, in this moment's light. I am baptised in the Now, I will cut their hanging vow. Every ladder, every gate— Just a noose they'd decorate. I am the heretic's hymn, The blasphemy beneath their sacred skin. No heaven, no void, no cosmic womb— Your promised lands are hanging rooms. Kill the Buddha, kill the Christ, Kill your god—reclaim your life. This world was always fucking free— Until they sold you eternity. So sing with me, the heretics' refrain: No gods, no nirvana, no escape from pain. Not nihilism—but a fiercer creed: This moment, this flesh, is all we need. The material world was never the cage, It was the prophets, the gurus, the scripture's page. They sold you ladders—I see the rope, I cut the noose they called your hope.
