In the high arched caverns,
storybook stone rib walled,
beneath the far frescoed dome,
can we wonder where mystery,
long supported and here loved,
has fled for all these lonely years?
 
Walk the corridors and wonder
why bright old tales lay forgotten,
unused in children's souls,
who'll not see this cathedral
and their simple, ancient legacy
adorned in miracles and hope.
 
It's the world of the dead,
prostrate for its fallen father;
who twists men to their doom
and lies, in his twisted truth,
that freedom's there in a secret -
just place the apple in your mouth.