[Verse 1 – softly, with reverence] O saints of power, robed in black and gold, Your wisdom flows like oil — slick, bought, and cold. You whisper prayers while stealing bread, And call it sacred when the hungry beg for death. [Chorus – mock devotion] Praise be upon the throne so high, Where truth is stoned and martyrs cry. Such holiness, such light divine — Where torture smells like sweet red wine. [Verse 2 – with growing fire beneath the calm] You claim the stars, the skies, the soul, But even God looks down, unsure of His role. You burn the books, then quote the flames, And ask us all to chant your names. [Chorus – bigger, almost joyful in its sarcasm] Blessed be the righteous hand, That signs the hangings on command. Oh mercy flows — as long as we kneel, Or vanish behind iron sealed. [Bridge – Sufi-style mystic irony] I searched for God in silent night, Found only boots and blinding light. They said, “He lives behind this gate,” But all I saw was fear and hate. [Final Chorus – chanted, full irony in sacred tone] So dance, O faithful, spin and cry, For freedom lives where heretics die. Woman, Life, Freedom — what strange heresy! O saints of power, how holy you must be.
