In Blood And Silver Pieces Poem by Göran Gustafsson

The drones are dripping honey
And then the Reaper scores
In blood and silver pieces
For the tower with seven doors
The Kings and Queens are dancing
In streets made out of gold
But in the narrow lane
A child is waiting to unfold

The Pope is getting ready
For the sermon on the mount
Make sure that you have balanced
Your profit and loss account
He says your soul is tainted
With sins of ancient mark
Repent and give your tenth
And then you can embark

Above the church and throne
The bankers lay their eggs
And from this nest of fortune
The birds will spill the dregs
In places down below
We gather in the street
Fingers writing on the wall
And riot squads take seat

When time is almost hidden
Beneath the sacred cowl
The light is slowly fading
And winds begin to howl
In utter desolation,
In times of curse and woe
I hear a growing murmur
From prayers in every row

Copyright © 2012 Göran Gustafsson. All rights reserved