Death faith is the summary.

The figure sits like every other day in the congregation of hearts that yawn to live and become a community of grave folks, this figure has never missed an experience nor a thought, neither that which goes by and on in the auditorium of self and church. Sometimes like war, it besets the grace that so profoundly belong to them or is it us all? Know him as Mr. Cold.
Mr. Cold almost knows everything. He cannot tell you he was there or not but if you do succeed he was definitely there. Mr. Cold sounds cold as he is cold much of what his name unfold. There is nothing hardly new to him because he has been around but he is not sure for how much longer; just like “cold”.
This particular day, he bastard his way to molest his conscience like any other day; he has the best suggestions; he is almost the best friends and never the enemy. No one often depends on him that is why he is alone and dying to be heard. These turns, he has found new formula; his very nature ridicules the most holy faith to naught if not for grace.
He lies to stand afar he so claim for thine soul to believe but I think not since I knew that he made me think itching scars loves to be scratched and unreasonable pleasurable are pleasurable than life’s riddle. The very moment anyone dares strike a deal with him, he offers the figure sit so cold. Never has there been a lonely place; sitting in the cold where he calls the life.
His rogue friendship is long and enduring and clear in your confusion and indecision. People today think he is in deeds but he has us all by that because in our religious gathering, he shameth not himself to help a helpless mind to thinketh the other way. Mr. Cold doesn’t disguise in attitudes that looks like trolls, like Adam and his mould, he makes denial of gold even to those that were unto them foretold.
He dominates the subconsciously living and light headed man to ravish his beloved and locks him afterwards. He causeth the preacher’s daughter sleep around like a dog. Who knows how much cold they take in? Jim stole the car, Grace is a prostitute and, last I heard, Joseph robbed a bank.
No wonder they church seasonally and they sit in the back seats shivering with chills. They think they cast away but one thing they skipped was the gilt class. They don’t love again, they grin and not smile, they talk with no message, they are empty and cruel, and cold as Mr. Cold, he is not yet done with them. All they are is empty and before my eyes they have almost no hope, only God believe in them because now they are figures and these figures have become cold. These figures freeze the church. Oppressed; they are jailed by someone who hasn’t the key for little did they know that the key is in their grave with them in the cold because the light has never left itself in darkness.
Therefore, the oppressor is known, he doesn’t breathe our air the way we do, he doesn’t worship God again, he injects pride and lies because that is all he has left for he gave it for all he has. You won’t see him here but you may know him better than anyone behind your eyeballs. He is the oppressor and the mind he preys on is the oppressed. He is head of the frozen church.