The Final Battlefield

Reduced to tear's By floundering year's And persecution The wickers fell On mannequin and collage painting's Hanging from the tower gate's So opaque The background checked the artist's brush That stroked upon the maddening thrush Where common folk and gentry rushed To place upon a bed of thieves Which kings receive A ransom grand Gleaming gold And stole by hand From Jerusalem the holy rock Whence pilgrims flock For station on the end of day's The final battlefield of men on earth Shall witness the return of God The apocalypse is nigh at hand But who will gain the upper hand Is no more certain Than the closing curtain On which the hook's Some must hang If that in which your faith was placed Was sadly misplaced Or misdirected