Pray The New Mecca Poem by Brad Kellum

Worship our god, no longer walking to mass, as of yet
set behind silicon and glass.
Pray to the illuminated god of neon and gas.
For the storm is coming.
In thine times of wicked needs,
watts your desire?
It can be freed
Simply give us your account number and enter the pin.
Impatiently awaiting for your electronic sin.
Programmed in stoic battle for you soul.
Defragmented evil reaching our through the telephone pole.
Unrestrained depravity, slow dripping I.V.,
draining steadly down the wire.
Washing the binary soul withing static white fire.
Degrading our downloaded empire.
Erasing history every three to seven days.
Martyrs we are nailed to the cross.
Replacing wood and metal with vinyl and gloss.
Boundlessly constricted to our unholy cross with U.S.B. cables.
No longer breaking bread with thine neighbors,
instead were living a codex life.
Surrounded by easy listening electronic strife.
Beliving in nothing but freedom through the stroke of a wireless button.
Remember Well....
To exchange a mysterious heaven for informations technological hell.
Trapped away and shut off from all,
locking ourselves within this numbered cell.
Neal before your cathode god.
Place the silicon communion chip upon you tounge.
Drink the sacramental binary wine.
101010 equal to or greater than divine.
Healing hands placed on the cubed priest.
All is good....
All is great....
All are welcome to watch the death of your kingdom.