In a land full of pews and of bells and of smoke,
There once stood a Church — but it started to choke.
It choked on its incense, it choked on its pride,
It painted its altars and let Truth slide.

There once was a time it was sturdy and bold,
With statues and silence and chalices gold.
But now it’s all tambourines, handshakes and lights,
With priests who wear sneakers and bishops in tights.

They used to teach sin — now they just say “mistake.”
They used to say “fast” — now they say “take a break!”
They used to preach Christ — now it’s all “let’s be nice.”
No more Ten Commandments, just lukewarm advice.

The dogma? Diluted. The Latin? All gone.
The silence? Replaced with a sing-along song.
They preach Mother Earth and the climate and pride,
But won’t speak of Hell — now that they just hide.

The Pope tweets of migrants and melting ice caps,
While cardinals lounge in theological naps.
The shepherds wear mitres but speak like the mob,
And Peter, poor Peter — he’s out of a job.

The candles are plastic, the homilies canned,
The Mass is a pageant — not sacred, but bland.
And back in the choir, where angels once wept,
Now “On Eagles’ Wings” is sung while folks slept.

But somewhere out there, past the smoke and the spin,
A remnant remembers what burned deep within.
A fire that won’t flicker, a flame that won’t die,
A truth that won’t change when the winds of men lie.

So yes — let them dance, let them prance, let them clown,
Let them spin up their Church till it all tumbles down.
Because when it falls — and fall it shall do —
The Bride will stand up. Not painted. But true.

She’ll rise from the rubble with incense and steel,
With silence that cuts and a sword that can heal.
And Peter will weep, and the Rock will grow warm —
When fire returns
in its
righteous
form.