Temples Made of Skin and Noise

They built their shrines beneath the tongue
So every prayer could taste like them
A scent of gold, a breath of rust
Forgiveness pre-approved and stamped

They teach you how to kneel in style
With folded guilt and steady smiles
Your hands are clean
But every finger pays

Paper halos sold in threes
Discounted for your tragedies
You hum along, you never scream
That's how the holy keep you clean

I've seen them heal what they first infect
Call it light
I call it debt

They trade salvation by the gram
Hand it out in gentle hands
Every virtue has a price tag
Every sinner signs a plan

And at home
The fire hums in smaller ways
The walls repeat their names
While anger learns my face

The louder they bless
The deeper it cuts
Peace tastes like profit
And I've had enough

If heaven's for sale
Hell must be home