A.N.G.U.I.S.H.

You pick up an axe.
I will pick up a gun.
You knock out a priest.
I will silence a nun.
It's really fun
To fight for religion.
Let's go out on the street.
And chop every one.
Then at each other,
We will point our guns.
And then on the load of a dice,
Or a wink of an eye,
Or the toss of a coin,
The dead, we will join.
After all we are MEN.
Armed with brains and weapons.
Conscience and ammunition.
Voice and choice.
Soul and grenades.
Faith and blades.
Truth and plots.
Strength and weakness.
He gave us the power.
To do everything in our might.
So let's burn this world.
And die in an endless fight.
Maybe that really is,
The way to some kind of paradise.
Because the one He gave us,
Was looted and raped by all of us alike.
Maybe He also doesn't know,
What to do in His anguish.
And so He has shut the doors of his Heaven tight,
Till the time we are all dead in this fight.
Maybe then He will come out,
To build another world from the remains.
And to ensure it doesn't burn again,
He won't create a single MAN.


(I guess we all know why.)