Do you hear me cry?
Sometimes I look beyond your cries
and stare behind your bright blue eyes
which is where I assume you fantasise
about our life after this biblical flood
about our life that will end with blood
But who's blood?
Is it that you are doubting this still?
And what deep pit of hunger that this will fill?
And who's life will be ended when we do kill?
How far will we have to run?
until we are under some distant and foreign sun?
But which sun?
At night I hear you screaming out
your voice growing hoarse from each sore shout
are you no longer feeling devout?
Are you starting to get cold feet?
About who we are inevitably going to meet?
But who will we meet?
Killing must feel good to God too
murder and sin and every taboo
what dark places his mind must run through
when he chooses what we deserve today
smiting the ones who do nothing but pray
Should we still pray?