The temples fell, the prophets bled, We burned the books, rejected what they said. The faithful ask: "What's left for you?" As if the absence of their chains means we have nothing true. We stand in ruins they call emptiness, But we see freedom where they see distress. No ladder to climb, no heaven to earn— Just ground beneath our feet and truths we've learned. We need no prophet, no shepherd, no guide. We need no leader to walk by our side. Just voices speaking what we know is real— The heretics' creed, the truth we feel. The gods are buried, the altars dust, And in their absence—we place our trust Not in new masters or promised lands, But in this moment, in our own hands. We stand on ground that was always free. We are our own thrones—no gods above, no masters below. The material world was never our prison—it was their lie that caged us. This moment is not suffering to transcend—it is life to be lived. They said we'd crumble without their divine, That meaning needs heaven's design. But we found purpose in the here and now, We are our own thrones—we will not bow. No scripture saves us—we save ourselves. No prophet leads us—we walk as equals. No heaven awaits—we build meaning here. We reject the cycle. We break the chain. We do not wait for paradise—we claim presence now. We do not seek escape—we reject the need for it. Knowledge over faith. Questions over answers. Freedom over certainty. We are the heretics who saw through every creed. We are the apostates who refused every ladder. We are our own thrones, and we bow to nothing. We stand on ground that was always free. We are our own thrones—no gods above, no masters below. The material world was never our prison—it was their lie that caged us. This moment is not suffering to transcend—it is life to be lived. We do not wait for paradise—we claim presence now. We do not seek escape—we reject the need for it. We are baptised in flame, not water. We are baptised in blood, not wine. We are baptised in blasphemy— And we are finally, utterly free. The gods are dead. The temples burn. We stand on our own apostate thrones— And we will never kneel again. We are our own thrones. We bow to nothing. We are finally free.
