Clean out your temples O ye saints
For once again my house is a den of thieves
Your life belongs to me
But all of you have becomes whores
Chasing after pleaures that satisfy not
Who has deceived you so
Who do you seek me among wantom pleasures
For my love, I call out once again
For the wilderness wind I shall blow
To wipe out all your vain desires
That your purity will stand sure

So, choose your own wilderness O ye saints
Before it is chosen for you
For that which you choose you can control
But my wind, who can stand wrath
Created for my pleasure and glory
Yet you live double hypocritical lives
Deceiving none but yourselves
Liars without a cause, mockers of none but self
Moved by every wind of doctrine you sway
Refusing to keep my truths to heart
Dying in the wantomness of flesh
Drinking milk when you should be eating meat

So beat your plow to sword, and your sickle to arrows
You have become conformers to the world
Like a chaff blown all sides by the wind
For Your wits will fail you now
Your flesh shall break to ashes
Your hardwork will be unrewarded with pain
Your profits will be wasted

singing in strangeland

singing in strangeland

Created for Zion, but you live in strange lands
Created to sing my songs of worship
You wallow in a whoremonger’s crib
The lives you live is to me strange
Your sins seperate you from me
I am God, I change not, you belong to me
I desire your pure song, yet in vain
How then can you sing my songs
While you die in Strange Lands

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