Another body bit the dust,
Another tragedy unheard…
I take the cross and see but rust –
Erodes and crumbles Holy Word.
Faith lives today – tomorrow dies…
Under cold rain alone I stood
Raising my hands to broken skies –
“Could I be so misunderstood?
Is it my job to spread the lies?
Why should I care for what is heard?”
A preacher who the hardest tries
Will better teach holding a sword…
…Yet, reaching in my coat I grab
The Holy Word, trying to find
Between the pages wet and drab
How to connect with my own kind?
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