Look at your home, Angel,
And get the cobwebs out of your face,
You'll see shocking scenes,
You'll see the unfortunate and the sick,
You'll see sorrow, death and misery.
Look at your flock, Angel,
They're all cripples and beggars,
You only roam the crowd,
And you don't see
They all have broken spine.
As you only expect salvation.
See the scum, Angel,
Their soul is damned,
Everyone has blinkers on,
They built temples for themselves,
With hands drenched in blood.
Pick up your sword, Angel,
Remember the Wars,
Remember forked necks,
Let the enemies feel the same
On their skin, how does
Misery, fear and pain feels.
When you come in truth,
Praying for your flock
Let a peace in their souls. © V. Morich