The Cult of Isis

[the Draç]

The Egyptian Pantheon, not Don Juan, or to bond.

The enemy out on bond, his psalm, his song.

Gone with the wind, follow along, she's gone.

The Gospal of Tom, to dream of Heaven when she yawns.

Her intellect is long, her third eye, the thong.

Their Kingdom, King Kong, that bitch was always wrong.

The colors, the scheme, the idol, the machine.

There's no I in team, to mean mug, to sing.

Here's your last chance, to get in your stance.

The glutton at its finest, you're stuck with cramps.