Bitter X-Ian Poem by James Daniel Gabriel

Looks like an altar, but sleeps like a pew.
Snore thru the things that you hold on to.
Give it to us, Lord, we’ll sell it for you.
For thirty. Dirty. Pieces.

We slaughtered our lambs to paint our doors.
We all play a part in this Holy War.
If death passes over tomorrow we want more.
Than thirty. Dirty. Pieces.

No one’s climbing the trees these days.
The fields don’t flood. Bushes don’t blaze.
The water doesn’t part but its bottled and dated.
Vintage. Jesus.

Drink from your glass at the same time as me.
Two straws and a walk up a hill for a fee.
Pay your disciples, good work isn’t free.
It takes. Thirty. Dirty. Pieces.

It looks like a wolf but squeals like a sheep.
It says that eternity doesn’t come cheap.
Reach in your pockets, be sure to dig deep.
For thirty. Dirty. Pieces.

Once I was found but now I’m amazed.
I saw a light, but that was just a phase.
I’ve been in the wild now, for forty long days.
And thirty. Dirty. Pieces.