The evenescense
Of that which inspires
Is derived from
The crave of our desires

Lost in tranquil thought
Of that which is deemed
As of unworthy
To our unholy dreams

We seek that which drives
Our inner self conspires
For the betterment of self
And to fill the endless pit of desires

But nay to the faithful
Filled with the love
Of the freedom
The freedom of the dove

Whilst the unholy
Watch from afar
Seeing that which the faithful see
From only a door slightly ajar

Filled with jealocy
For what the faithful feel
The unholy are but fish
Fish stuck on the fisherman's reel

Dwelling in the shadows
Cut off from the light
The holy glow
That shines ever so bright

We the unholy
Walking on our knees
Grasping for the branches
The branches of the holy trees

Forever lost are we
Seeking our desires
Of that of the holy
Which so often inspires