Ramekin

Not a single door in this house
Will shut closed all the way
They are swollen with the moisture
Of all the things we refuse to say

No counsel held in private, not a whisper will survive
When cursed acoustics are at play
Our portraits in the hallway seem to mock our firm commitment
To corner and to frame

Comfort in the idyll, comfort in the idyll
Suckling at the teat of grassy plain

Comfort in the idol comfort in the idol
Of the temple built by all the tithe we've paid

Found a note left inside
Inside of the pulpit
It reads quietly, perforated at the side
"acknowledge the beast in the room
Acknowledge the beast
And get eaten alive
You'll get eaten alive."

Comfort in the idle, comfort in the idle
Keep the speaking creature in his cage