Blood taints God’s pudding
Inedible, inane
Praise raised with violence
In agony: Truth slain
Authority beyond that which is offered
Limbs of creation lay hewn on cold alters
As faltering souls sing in sick disarray
Sun sleeps beneath the smoke of the day
Blood taints God’s vintage
Befouled, besot
Faith based in hatred
With tragedy bought
Majority in chains of times and locations
Curdled lies scrawled upon pure salvation
As fumbling small minds think murder away
Sun sleeps behind the smoke of the day
Blood cakes God’s fingers
But not for His sin
Threaded in rhetoric
Sealed with dead “Amen!”
Imploring me to ask: Can Love caress hate?
And set my own evils in the offering plate.
As crumbling new Babel sends servants astray
Sun sleeps behind the smoke of the day
Broken in darkness, all mortals pray.
Sun sleeps behind the smoke of the day.