My name doesn’t tell if I’ve got
Some meaningly posh coat of arms
I didn’t contribute to national lot
But maybe I did for the arts
I don’t criticize politicians
It must be the easiest job
Yet I never praise politicians
For this is a job of a yob
So I’m a bit jobless you see
Hope you can guess that I am
An artist of air and the sea
A painter of skies and the land
This doesn’t imply that I stand for
The land that I thouroughly see
Political people can love it much more
With pleasure I gladly concede
I’m not patriotic since childhood
I haven’t changed in this regard
But this doesn’t mean that I would
Deem jingoes as utter retards
Some folks are ok being homebound
Some other prefer rock and roll
And some will keep silent about it
I’ve equal respect for them all
To meet me you will not regret
My broad-minded soul plays no game
You’d think of me:”haven’t we met?
But I can’t remember his name”.
They never walked Earth's crusted back,
Carried but a while then coldly denied,
But these little feet make big tracks,
On paths whereby humanity is tried.
Only revelation will show the narrow road not taken,
All the prophets, saints and saviors forsaken.
They never walked Earth's crusted back,
But these little feet make big tracks.
Licentious laws lacking spiritual lights,
Bought by jargon jingoes claiming pseudo rights,
Allow doctors to quietly crush the frightened innocent skulls,
And break the little bent backs, of babes whom parents cull.
Surreptitious organizations sired by Legion and conceived in greed,
Ambiguously cite Philanthropy, touting Lucifer's malignant seed,
So these prophets and saviors may never walk Earth's crusted back,
Nevertheless, these little martyred feet... make big tracks.
One million aborted per year in the U.S. since nineteen seventy three,
In the land of the licentious, certainly not the free.
They never walked Earth's crusted back,
But these little feet leave big tracks......
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