The master you serve

You say you serve the master,
the same one that I bow to.
You seem to think this true.
Yet I do not believe you.
Out of kindness I don't tell you
you would not believe my words.

The die has long been cast.
The price already paid.
All the words in your holy books
cannot change the truth.

But you keep reading,
you keep looking,
you keep searching,
you keep hoping,
sometimes even praying.

Somewhere in the pages
of your hallowed tome
lie those precious words;
instruments of your salvation.

They must be there.
You keep looking,
you keep reading,
you keep hoping.
The master's words,
they must be there.

But they are not there.
They have not ever been.
The sacred map is not the holy land.
The chalice never the Savior's blood.