A Spot of Religion By The Hatter

Brutal rap, Wonderland, Male vocals, nature sounds, High quality studio, steeped in Cuckoo logical, C Minor Style: Wonderland Boom-Bap / Teacup Trap, polyphony, weirdcore, turntablism, scratch

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[Lewis // Musing, Pen-Tapping // Dry Humor]
[Quill scratches, thunder low-rumble]
It built up great towers, all spires and gold—
Funded by pockets it pickpocketed bold.
It painted some kings with a glow from on high,
While burning the doubters who asked "But why?"

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[Chorus // Mock-Grand // Procession Rhythm]
[Organ wheeze, Latin chant chopped and spun]
Oh, Religion! — a hat for the head,
A yoke for the strong, a leash for the dead.
It gives with a smile, it takes with a nod,
And it signs all its deeds with the signature: God.

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[Hatter // Clockspring Energy // Rhyming Fast]
[Marching feet loop, wooden cross creaks]
They promised the meek they'd inherit the Earth—
While the mighty grew fat on piety's worth.
A sword in one hand, a scroll in the other,
They conquered the tribes and they called it "our brother."

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[Lewis // Sighing // Ironic Calm]
[Distant choir, sheep bleats layered]
The wars? Holy.
The plagues? A test.
The doubts? A devil scratching your chest.
And reason, dear Alice, was chased from the hall—
For nothing's so dangerous as questions, at all.

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[FX: MID-SONG BREAK – Cracked Hymn, Burning Book Static, Coin-Shuffle Beat]
@Preach!@ @Plunder!@ @Pardon!@ @Plague!@
(Raise up the steeple and kneel to the sword...)
(Confess all your crimes—but the worst are ignored.)
(Wear your salvation like a jester’s gown...)
(While the bishop feasts and the beggar drowns.)

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[Chorus // Waltzing Out of Tune // Hollow Echo]
[Broken bells, crackling fire under strings]
Oh Religion! — a map to the sky,
Drawn by blind men who swear they’re not shy.
It kisses your forehead, it binds up your hands—
It sells you a future and harvests your lands.

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[Hatter // Finishing with a Crooked Bow]
[Clock unwinds, parchment crumbles]
So sip from the chalice, or toss it aside,
But know it’s a mirror, not much of a guide.
Believe if you wish, disbelieve if you dare—
Just mind all the cages dressed up like prayer.

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[End]

(A Spot of Religion: a dance in the fog, with promises written on vanishing logs.)

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[Hatter // Cheerful Madness // Topsy-Turvy] [Old chapel bells, creaking floorboards, hymnbook flutter FX] Once there was a Tale spun so very fine, Of heavens and hells, and bread into wine. It promised you mansions, it threatened you flame— But mostly, dear child, it asked for your name. --- [Lewis // Musing, Pen-Tapping // Dry Humor] [Quill scratches, thunder low-rumble] It built up great towers, all spires and gold— Funded by pockets it pickpocketed bold. It painted some kings with a glow from on high, While burning the doubters who asked "But why?" --- [Chorus // Mock-Grand // Procession Rhythm] [Organ wheeze, Latin chant chopped and spun] Oh, Religion! — a hat for the head, A yoke for the strong, a leash for the dead. It gives with a smile, it takes with a nod, And it signs all its deeds with the signature: God. --- [Hatter // Clockspring Energy // Rhyming Fast] [Marching feet loop, wooden cross creaks] They promised the meek they'd inherit the Earth— While the mighty grew fat on piety's worth. A sword in one hand, a scroll in the other, They conquered the tribes and they called it "our brother." --- [Lewis // Sighing // Ironic Calm] [Distant choir, sheep bleats layered] The wars? Holy. The plagues? A test. The doubts? A devil scratching your chest. And reason, dear Alice, was chased from the hall— For nothing's so dangerous as questions, at all. --- [FX: MID-SONG BREAK – Cracked Hymn, Burning Book Static, Coin-Shuffle Beat] @Preach!@ @Plunder!@ @Pardon!@ @Plague!@ (Raise up the steeple and kneel to the sword...) (Confess all your crimes—but the worst are ignored.) (Wear your salvation like a jester’s gown...) (While the bishop feasts and the beggar drowns.) --- [Chorus // Waltzing Out of Tune // Hollow Echo] [Broken bells, crackling fire under strings] Oh Religion! — a map to the sky, Drawn by blind men who swear they’re not shy. It kisses your forehead, it binds up your hands— It sells you a future and harvests your lands. --- [Hatter // Finishing with a Crooked Bow] [Clock unwinds, parchment crumbles] So sip from the chalice, or toss it aside, But know it’s a mirror, not much of a guide. Believe if you wish, disbelieve if you dare— Just mind all the cages dressed up like prayer. --- [End] (A Spot of Religion: a dance in the fog, with promises written on vanishing logs.)

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