Rust Cathedral: A Hymn of Decay

We built a temple out of spare parts and static. Prayed to the

hum, let the rust do the magic. Every nail a psalm,

every crack a confession. Faith's a machine that feeds on obsession.

Welcome to the Rust Cathedral where the saints corrode and decay feels legal.

The steeple leans like a dying lung and every prayer's a gear that's

come undone. We whisper verses through corroded grates. Hymns of the damn sung to

broken fates. Oil drips down like sanctified rain. We baptize the ghosts in a

pool of pain. Static in the scripture, glitch in the creed.