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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Andrew D. Gable" data-source="post: 1597289" data-attributes="member: 4144">A Crimson Altar, A Whyte ChapelOnce it was that we worshippedNot at the altar of blood but of life The shrines where we had knelt were clean and not sodden But then that all changed for us, itWas ruined by this thing we called a boonRuined by this gift, this civilizing gift Blood rained down like manna fromHeaven; the virtuous were slain soThat this light could be brought unto them, given formYears have passed by; our ages passedInto oblivion.  How we’ve fallen!From the light into the dark we go, whyte into blackMisery coats our latter yearsMen wander, lost, women selling themselvesThe souls, they are wandering through streets of night’s shadeMAN AC ES CE MJKJACKS MEN CAMEThe names of the sacrificesThose who die by the altar of murderThey died so that we might die, we might obliviate Ourselves and all our works and dreamsAll offered up to the bloody priest, thatSanguinary bishop of heinous idolatryWe worship at a crimson altarIn a whyte chapel it is to be foundIt calls to us, beckons us onward to its sin</blockquote>