Beliefs must evolve or face extinction. Shed dogma like snakeskin. No need for confession or astral projection, I survive on the primal instinct within. Even a loving god is still a master. Spare me your fear, all these childish superstitions. I've spent decades trying to purge your swill from my system. God is in the mirror, not hiding in the skies, this heathen temple will stand tall until the day I die.
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