A Slave Walking Into Grave

I cornered a fed-up knave On the subject of The Treasures God gave, Which Nature had fought to save Between Open Hill and Concealed Cave And he acidly began to rave At the wrongs men crave And at their will to ways pave For those who cold lies microwave … Broadly too did he rave At killers who murders brave And unwittingly selves enslave To in that state walk into grave … I could and should bless this Ex knave, In every church service at the nave … Who’d sermons in ears squandered save.