I, Blaspheme (apologies in advance)

She speaks in muddles
     and backward laments
 Praising divination
     and obedience
 To a ghost above
    and zombie below
 She eats of his flesh
    and drinks of his blood
 Which fills her spirit
    and calms her disease
 The ones inflicted 
    and others believed
 With blood she's lifted
    and scapegoats redeem
 The D-vine incense
    Oppression, it seems
 No finger be raised
    or held-hand amends
 Shall lift her station
    or serve as a gift
 Her cult of dying
    breeds martyrs of men
 Who praise a zombie
    Who scapegoats their sin

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