When the Temple Hit the Ground

We built God a prison, called it sacred space. Locked him behind

curtains, so we could feel safe. You warned us, but we loved

the walls. Now they're crushing us. When the temple hit the ground,

so did everything we worshipped. Turns out God doesn't

live in what we're willing to defend. Fire ate the

altar whole. Sirens replaced the songs. We confused the building for belief

and lost both when it burned. Oh-oh-oh, when it

burned. When the temple hit the ground our faith started breathing.