Houses Of The Holy Poem by Bill Smith

In the houses of the holy
They are polishing their guns
In the houses of the holy
They are offering up their sons

In the minds of the righteous
A tenner makes it right
There’s a place in heaven waiting
Repeat Amen, God bless, goodnight

In the eyes of the preacher
Sits before him heaven sent
Clay for the moulding
Minds to be bent

To the will of the living
By the men who palm the book
Who take the main ingredients
Then slowly start to cook

A shallow dish of hatred
A recipe for pain
A mixing bowl of don’t you dare
Then doing the very same

In the houses of the holy
There’s no such thing as sin
There’s a pathway up to heaven
A guarantee of getting in

Cos’ in the houses of the holy
Where they slay the sacred cow
There’s no reflection in the mirrors
Of the holier than thou