Death comes a-calling with coldness of heart.

A priest takes the lead (and gold) from the blest:

“The Body of Christ, each Christian a part.

This Body of Christ is now laid to rest.”

Death’s best friend, the Church, is perched on Death’s right,

holding his breath while profusely sweating.

“That soul is so young,” he drools with delight.

“Follow ME,” says he, his vows forgetting.

Death’s next friend, the State, asleep at Death’s left.

the people’s taxes already stolen.

She mumbles,

“Taxes for programs, not theft…

forget these Government members swollen…”

The Church and the State, genetically spliced.

Parasites on Host, the Body of Christ.