Through the fire they pass,
Into the portal of pain.
It was taught that we worshipped idols no more,
Yet it all seems the same.
The woodworker has been replaced by fancy machines,
Graven images just pitiful goods.
Enslaved by these materials,
They forget to Whom desires Praise.
The allure of glittery objects,
The smell of the green.
The instant gratification that these services give,
Works to destroy the soul within.
Don’t pass your children through a fire to Molekh,
It all looks so similar.
Pyrotechnics and giant signs,
Bow down to your new masters.
The atheist always worships,
They never lose the yearning.
The believer checks his wrist,
And all he sees is Roman numbers.
We cannot open our mouths,
Our words cannot stop it.
Only Your Guidance can quell this disaster,
Only Your Mercy can save us from death.
When will we awake from this horrible dream,
When will we be free of this trap?
Show us Your Glory,
Our Invisible King.
That we may bow down to Your Throne,
Atop Your Holy Abode.
For Praise to You is worth more than all else combined,
To dwell in Your Presence our only desire.
Open the eyes of Your children,
Open the hearts of Your people.
Show us Your Glory,
Our Invisible King.
