Seventh-day Adventist, not Jewish
We stand around like the rocks of Stonehenge
Waiting for the impending sunset to set us in motion again
In the meantime, we pay homage to our Druids

Week after week we do this
We remain rock hard with points to prove
We have little to gain, but have the world to lose
As we gossip through the daylight

We can hear the serpent’s hiss
We know ignorance is this:
To know and not do better but,
Still we do our wrong

Followed by pebbles of penance,
Pagan praise and worship song
Heed the alter-call of the holy man
All praises due to Pan

Our sins are sanctified by the solstice of the seventh

And by the grinding of the wheat within
Of the wine and bread unleavened
Heaven’s further than we think
But whilst plum-drunk on the grape-blood of the god-man

We stone to death the heathens!
With the grapes of wrath consumed, we move
To spend our tithes in fast-food joints
Followed by philosophical food-fights, we hypocrites; aloof

Set ourselves up to become targets
Tarred by the same brush we use to paint
We are the stone-cold saints, who viewed Medusa
And next week, we’ll do it all again

James Massiah – “Sanctified Soul; Stonehenge” (c) 2010

Seventh-day Adventist, not Jewish
We stand around like the rocks of Stonehenge
Waiting for the impending sunset to set us in motion again
In the meantime, we pay homage to our Druids

Week after week we do this
We remain rock hard with points to prove
We have little to gain, but have the world to lose
As we gossip through the daylight

We can hear the serpent’s hiss
We know ignorance is this:
To know and not do better but,
Still we do our wrong

Followed by pebbles of penance,
Pagan praise and worship song
Heed the alter-call of the holy man
All praises due to Pan

Our sins are sanctified by the solstice of the seventh

And by the grinding of the wheat within
Of the wine and bread unleavened
Heaven’s further than we think
But whilst plum-drunk on the grape-blood of the god-man

We stone to death the heathens!
With the grapes of wrath consumed, we move
To spend our tithes in fast-food joints
Followed by philosophical food-fights, we hypocrites; aloof

Set ourselves up to become targets
Tarred by the same brush we use to paint
We are the stone-cold saints, who viewed Medusa
And next week, we’ll do it all again

James Massiah – “Sanctified Soul; Stonehenge” (c) 2010