Chops over chops
Of Hammer Hard
Injecting nails poisonous
Under the Son of God,
O yes, Yes. That is a sin
But still going on and on and on...
Theirs thrust for blood,
Ours thrust for drops.
They want him dead,
We want grow crops.
And Killing a God-gift for blossom and lawn,
Is still going on and on and on...
Not one, not Two, but billion nails,
Hurting hammers, Bursting bells.
Hours and hours of endless drill,
And nothing well but a "Bore-well."
We crush, kill and destroy,
Safely ignore mother's cry...
We Hurt, Damage and get our Life,
Our lips wait finally and a Vampires sigh...
At last
A Christ
Hanging on Curse
Bleeding helplessly...
And deep,
Incurable, Violent wounds
On her caring face
Can't you see?
