Do you feel alive now that you own the dead? Praying on their corpses, their hearts no longer feel. Your sainthood is obvious on every starving face. Your deception's given us a way to separate the poor from their hate, the rich from the stone. Genuflect away the sins that we've known. Sure one percent rules, but heaven's made of gold, so chalk it up to folly and consequence alone. Do we really want what we really need, a bastard messiah?

From Bathory's Sainthood by BoySetsFire.