poisons fleece the faces
of thy tongue
as the sing-song of praises
some pastors' gong
could make me make some
judgment as their pious
in fame
in popularity as well bear contours
When men of 'God'
who haven't met the Word
act the word they
are rather acting their scripts I say
I believe Jesus walks
He talks and thus functional
Hard has it become of the talks
ehn when pious people contemn others in their Nazi tonal
If all days appear white alone
then wherewith would we case the night's own?
Who among you preachers pitch your tent
where God would talk to you on all matters in cent?
Hypocrites pitch the tent
Condemners rise on 'em to waggle resolves guising Sent
Let all hearts ask for directions on all matters; it matter
Lest we all are like Helenites whose hands be as reeking in crimson colour or gutter.
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