The net is set before, And the Fowler garners his devices. Oh! Steel trap! It is sprung and wound taught. He seethes with venom And with his black veil He shows himself as violet light! He dawns the clergy's robe And stands above Beyond, with his fowler's instrument set. The congregation dances in their red hooves And cloven feet, As the witches draw their enneagrams. They do their dances Ecstatic with the tongues of asps. They bow, they raise They dance to the light of their own fires And they say, "I see." The Black Priest Raises, in the robes of Baptist's flannel They shout their glorious shouts In ecstasies, They gorge and smoke their peace pipes Outside of their Holy Cloisters. They speak of life now, And they speak of prosperity To call forth holy visions to bring them their good Fortune, and their just deserts. He draws his cup, with the pentagon Pits at the back of his church Where he sacrifices the goats. He destroys the content man's life With his counsel he gives to the man's wife Impregnating her with her desire for life. He implants this same desire in his whole flock As the fanatics bear their arms And draw forth their swords Ready to wage the Holy War of Armageddon. He calls forth his armies from the woods Whom he has also impregnated with the desire to live. He speaks of gaining beauty in the wife And of physique and flesh. He sways in his black robes And hood dawned which prevents his face from being seen. He is the Judas Priest Presiding over the Black Sabbaths. He is our modern Preacher Preaching the good work of self content And prosperity, likening this fallen world To the land of milk and honey. He says, "Heaven is a place on earth," And he tells his troop to take it To slurp down the victuals and to feast upon The sea's fats. Prosperity, beauty, contentment, These are his sermons To a lost generation. Saying to them, "Receive your bounty "For you shall provide for yourself! "The poor are a scourge upon the earth "And the rich are the inheritors of the land. "The meek are all sinners "And those who mourn are chief among the blasphemers. "Those who are poor in spirit, they are the filth that we despise "And those who are peace makers, they we hate because we love war." The congregation spins in their pews, And dance to the beats They sing their magical chaunts, They shout their "Hallelujah" To the Jesus of Suburbia. And though they sprout wings The net flung into the air. And only the righteous escaped.