Your pulpit rests on an ornate altar, your glamorous stage of trickery.
You conduct a masquerade. You are the impostor.
You illustrate “a better way to live” behind closed doors.
You always reach inside only to pull out what wasn’t there before.
You are the illusionist.
You liar, you liar, you aren’t a medium. You’re just crafty with syntax.
You liar, you liar, you aren’t a prophet. You are the charlatan.
It is easy to disguise witty sly as facts
When you scream so loud there’s never talking back.
You deceive worse than “the enemy”. You are the predator; you are the beast.
You don’t care, you want them in despair to keep them coming to your lair.
You roar in an unknown tongue breathing false hope into their lungs.
Preaching, always breathing hymns of false hope into their lungs.
Preaching, always breathing misery into the young.
You are the leader of the cult. You built your fortress from their tithes.
“I am the illuminator shining light on your darkest” lies.