Oh, what ease to see.
The labour of demons
Called from the mountain tops
—the hands of the Almighty,
By shepherds of consumption.
Oh, what ease to see.
Sheeps to the slaughter
Of shepherd skinned wolves,
Beneath Death’s green valley,
In the farms of daily worship.
Oh, what ease to see.
Silos of stolen seeds
From the lips of hungry sheep
—a bountiful harvest make
For their financial plantation.
Oh, what ease to see
That with a mustard seed:
Those who see become blind,
Those who speak become dumb,
Those who hear become deaf.
Maybe I am all wrong
And to see is torment.