The flock have been abandoned

About the rot we find within the church, when the shepherds collude with the wolves

The flock have been abandoned, lost in fields long gone to weed,

left as prey to wolves in whose hearts beat a tainted need

Wolves who sleep secure by the warmth of shepherds fires,

atop the rugs under which swept dust continues to grow higher

Mute are those administering confessions behind closed doors

which sees absolution granted whilst repentance is ignored

Virtue becomes accomplice when silence hides the beast within,

the arrogance of the spirit dictating matters of the skin

A betrayal made more abhorrent by the heights from which it came

Such absence of the spirit that's evoked so oft in name

The trust upon which faith survives they've caused their own to shun

Would the son still plead forgiveness when they know just what they've done ?

The walls, within once was refuge, now protect a creeping stain

Relics keeping out the world from which some can't abstain

Pointless closing lips and ranks against some worried fall,

for a shepherd with no flock holds no authority at all