How did they take the Good Book
And come up with the Inquisition?
How did they twist such passionatewords,
And come up with such superstition?
Everybody's got a Good Book,
There are many versions of God,
When Good Books unleash genocide,
Beautiful words can turn out hard.
Prophets learned their lessons,
Staring out at the the sand,
Granule blessings,
Bestowed upon man.
But Men cling to suffering,
It's what they go through,
Sleepwalking over destruction,
Where any God will do.
Blasphemy is blasphemy,
It's part of the print in the Book,
Show me a passage where everybody laughs,
And I just might take a look.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem