In this world, sinister meets up with saints,
no one is innocent, not even God,
to be clean means to get your hands dirty,
harness the power of good, the wicked paints
in red, monochromatic evil deeds,
since a balance must be kept, they shed blood,
work must entail profits, a few lives lost,
ordinary folk, buried under sod,
relax, no one touches Auntie Gertie,
lest the balance loses control, death tossed
down under the wheels of the bus, who bleeds
still for the wicked as well as the good?...
in heaven, all wounds except His will heal,
nothing can be done for Jesus, He died
in substitution for all of our sins,
still, rivers run red with His blood, to deal
the cards and play each hand, knowing He cried
even as He breathed His last breath, who wins
revises history with their own lies,
murderers on the battlefield kill hope,
enter the politics of shadow lords,
enter the Star Chamber, all in disguise,
to get the job done, women and children
sent down the Red River in a bloodbath,
under this world, Dante imagines hell,
present to witness and report, a rope
winds its way, invisibly, to bind hordes
in silver and gold on earth, ring a bell,
to change our ways, the balance is golden,
humans make up stories, stroll a mud path,
sinners and saints are in this together,
as the narrative requires some balance,
in this world, the forces of good remain
negligible, knocked down by a feather,
the voodoo of a shaman takes a chance,
still, blood must be spilt, rivers feel no pain.
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