Halos of deceitful, misguiding light,
filling people's hearts with both fear and delight,
paradoxical hope and unneeded fright.

Evading our eyes from all of its lies,
aesthetic deceit - to compel and transfix, the blind they hypnotize.

To seduce us away from the fire which burns,
smothering it in so many, leaving so few to yearn.

To yearn for truth and glorifying passions within,
these things they have stolen - these halos of sin.

Painted with hands unknown and shameful,
at least a harlot repays money with pleasure.

Inculcating the herd with inhuman beliefs,
keeping them afraid, reverent, and sheep.

Without mercy they circle silly lobes,
tools to control through our conscience which scolds.

Such halos of deceit I reject with every breath,
"Nay," I shout.  "They are the true death!"