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The temple resembled a market place. They bought and sold.
By the rich even the Sanctum Sanctorum was controlled.
Communion of the humans with the divine seemed delinked.
From the lost tongues of hypocrites, like sounds of cracked gongs, clinked

Bonfires of sanctity from the hearth of your heart erupt
Possessed by the love of your father's abode, you were crushed.
Wrath, in the form of a whip, spun in your unconsciousness.
Each vendor of dignity soon regained their consciousness.

Could the priests and elders whose pride was demolished bear this?
Their mouths were shut. Within their hearts, there were many conflicts.
Why do you do this? What sign would you show? These were queries.
You knew your physique would berazed. You had, yet, no worries.

Pray in the house of God, Merchandise has its market place.
From the fullness of Abba, you knew, flew fullness of grace.

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