Many make pilgrimage here, wishes in tow,
And the number of coins at the bottom
Could make a poor man rich, but little do they know
This is not that sort of well. A rotten

God has made its home here. Each wish
Corrupts, doubles the pain that the wisher
Has sought to wish away. But this twist
Never seems to become a clear picture

To the masses that come, in droves, to assemble
Before a mouth that sucks up all their wealth
Along with their wishes. They believe this a temple,
But the only religion here’s an in depth

Joke. But belief is often more powerful
Than any fruit the tree of fact can bear,
Because that fruit is bitter and folks are fools
Who’d rather suck on the sweetness of hopes and prayers.