Poetry

The Scales

written by: alf hickey

Take my buttons for some gold
I want to rip you off
Your good nature, so easy to exploit
You're primitive, too eco-friendly
Our waste shows that we are the true Gods

We want you to follow our religion
Only I get the blessing from my heaven NY
For we are blessed above you
Special, chosen to lead you
At the end of sword and gun, you are

So God became what we wanted Him to be
Do anything that we accept his love
Let us crucify His Son, whip Him, spit
Mock, imprison, kill, His sick love says,
"I'll do anything to show my love"

We rip off heaven, make God our slave
And wriggle in our jeans and jackets
Steal the grace, the riches of heaven
"Until I die," we say
And yes, that is it, until you die for real

The scales are calibrated for reckoning
And His blood by faith isn't there
For you say, "The God of Israel is Dead."
No balance then for the stolen blood of God
His high life's price not on you.

No sale, ching ching. Tata.