My Worst Death Later

Dude, I’m glad you’re happy, but its mammon you serve.

You do practice what you preach and there’s money in your words,

but being blessed is not synonymous

with riding in a limo that’s as big as a bus

or possessing houses and cars and yachts

and lots and lots and lots

of money and the souls of those who listen to you,

but me thinks that something is possessing yours too.

I could ask for you to share some with me but I’ll refrain.

It’s 30 pieces of silver for the One you have betrayed

and someday my friend the deposit is going to come due.

I am not the Judge, but I sure in Hell wouldn’t want to be you.

So I am coming out with my own book. The title is above.

It won’t be a best seller, but then you can’t buy love

and the idea of a Suffering Servant on a cross to save

is a bitter pill to swallow in the home of the brave

but the gospel of the meek has never received rave reviews.

Please tell me then why it’s called the Good News.

Stumbling blocks and millstones and pigs flying off of a cliff,

A temple losing its thieves by the crack of a whip.

This Messiah ain’t playing. He’s right outside your door.

He’s got his fist raised and he’s ready to roar.

You see liberation is good news for those who need liberated,

not so much for those who’ve grown rich and satiated

on the things of this world. You say, Screw the masses.

Mr. Megawatt, I think it’s time for some sackcloth and ashes.


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