On the altar of glory,
The sacrificial lamb is
Brought to death, by the
Weapon of disguise. Every
Mute voice makes raucous,
Ravenous voices of jittery
And joy. The sun only smiles
As people run behind it, like
Hungry vultures. On the
Ground there is much
To be surprised at. But,
The shadows that grow
Defile it in their oily glory.
Just for a while though,
Not for long they stay, they
Slip and fall, trudge themselves
Around on the fuelled floor.
The world watches and
Laughs at the sacrificial lamb.
It is brought to death
On the altar of glory.
Brought to death, by the
Weapon of disguise. Every
Mute voice makes raucous,
Ravenous voices of jittery
And joy. The sun only smiles
As people run behind it, like
Hungry vultures. On the
Ground there is much
To be surprised at. But,
The shadows that grow
Defile it in their oily glory.
Just for a while though,
Not for long they stay, they
Slip and fall, trudge themselves
Around on the fuelled floor.
The world watches and
Laughs at the sacrificial lamb.
It is brought to death
On the altar of glory.
--Mohan
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