Greeting Card Maker | Poem Art Generator

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Salute The Truth
The wicked is calling the wicked wicked Oh what a wicked The wicked is calling the wicked Wicked Who is really wicked? The wicked is calling the wicked Wicked Can’t you see that something is wicked? Wicked man, Wicked woman, Wicked boy, Wicked girl Wicked church Wicked preacher Wicked teacher Wicked leader The wicked cannot help the wicked Because everyone is wicked As night falls the day begins to shouts And everyone starts running about Tall man with big long hands Gazing at me, and tall woman with fixed smile staring at me I cannot recall the days when soul was at ease And I saturate myself in the cool breeze Listening to the drums playing and donkey braying I wonder what they were thinking The wicked starts prowling around the town With the crucifix and blood dripping from his mouth The blinking stars arousing at the miserable cloud While the rain clouds move aimlessly around High tides rolling by with a message That his destiny is neigh, All the evidences are rolling in Did one man commit so much sin? Everything is piling up to the sky And the stubborn hearts are quietly melting I can never forget that day When He took my sweetheart away I cried a tear that was not there And I made a sigh that was not neigh Alas, I saw them coming in long gowns With big cross and little mantle Covering their round bald head And grim faces parachuting in the sky As if the Kingdom of heaven was passing by They try to appease the East with something that was incomplete But the obsession with the beast has Slowed down his heart beat Senseless man wearing senseless crowns While the travelling preacher is moving around He is gallivanting up and down with his gal And you cannot tell if he is sad or mad Others are moving aimlessly around And they don’t know where they are bound Sad faces, happy faces, telling the truth And making music about me and you I know that you are not near and you Have a lot to share I was hoping To meet you here to tell you that I care I am afraid that I have to go And start a new show There is no miracle Except for your miracle There is no prize except for your prize He said that there is no God except for your God There is no cry except for your cry And everyone will have to die I have listened to all And I have understood it all I see that your energy is wrapped up into a ball They preach about the wicked But they cause more people to be wicked They cruise around the land, Digging up old yam Rooting up cassava and Dasheen And staring at the cotton spleen The summer has ended long ago And the sugarcane crop is already over Who knows who is what? Who knows what to chat? The old goose is looking at you And the weather is dancing with you The wicked is calling the wicked, Wicked They are holding up their hands in the air And shouting in despair The days have passed and the nights have gone And they are waiting to sing their destitute song They say that it will happens at noon Just before midnight Or just before daylight You place your heart upon your head with a countenance that is stuck under your bed And when night comes you prowl around the town Searching for the battle that is hardly known The wicked is calling the wicked Hands in hands and throat in throat See that big boat it is afloat The wicked must stop the wicked So take the last dip and get on the big ship. Oh what a wicked!
Copyright © 2020 Christine Phillips. All Rights Reserved