---

I knocked upon the iron gate
Walked through endless corridors
And heard the abbot's prate
These walls remind me of a time
When bloodshed was a sacred crime
These walls standing tall and strong
Make me wonder where
I do belong

Not a church needs those walls, I think,
Rather a king or a scourge of
The land would build this
This is not trust, it is not belief
It's a sign of aggression
Of cowards who live behind walls

He spoke and acted nervously
He surely knows more but
He does not seem to trust me
I see a giant silhouette
No refuge, a fortress instead
Forced peace, not of mental health
A place of power -
Place of wealth

I know I felt this way before
For sure a hundred times
Or even more
The abbot challenged all my wit
The meek were disinherited
I leave but I'll soon return
When I come back I'll make
This dull man learn what
I know

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