Salute The Truth

Written by: Christine Phillips

The wicked is calling the wicked 
Oh what a wicked
The wicked is calling the wicked
Who is really wicked?
The wicked is calling the 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,
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!