by LION'S EYE
In a big new car, they've come from afar,
clear from way across town,
to sit for an hour, perspiring and dour,
while their leader the pulpit will pound
These smooth white faces, from "superior" races,
their religion all pretty and neat,
bring their tithes and their fancied up wives
to their own "special" Sunday church seat.
Exhorted to sing, to stand and to sit,
from effort their faces all red,
so as a result, (it's not their fault),
many stay home in bed.
Saddest of all, to the alter they're called
week after pleading week,
and as millions die, these "christians" sigh,
and think of their roasting meat.
Where is the fire, the burning desire,
to reach their fellow man,
to set things right, for justice fight,
not bury their heads in the sand?
Oh Christian true, a challenge to you,
I present in the name of our Lord,
to open your eyes, become as the wise,
and take up your God-given Sword.
For to battle we're called, not to soft pews lulled,
but to combat hand to hand,
to give of our best, not take our rest,
and to obey our Lord's command.
So open your heart, it's past time to start,
the battle's a raging din,
the end is near, the Trumpet we'll hear,
signaling THEN our rest to begin.
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