Each day it is done
offering daughters and sons

Upon that sacred mound
with its unholy fire of human desire
Of mans' will unabated
and rising still higher to be sated
the inklings
the tricklings out from which issue
each overwhelming deluge

How many more are to be born
from the core of this pitted fruit?
Its stoney seed bears a raging
brazenly arrogant breed
Hoards of war, heaping up ever more

The tinglings
The hissings of those passing by
eyeing your desolate heights

Each day it is done
offering daughters and sons


~


Pimps, pushers, slavers
and all on whom they ride
Behemoth
and
Leviathan
sons of mammon's pride
Selling tickets door to door
to fill their bags with one more whore
Buy up the carney's
tricks
and
treats
he'll pitch his tents astride your streets
And when they've ridden well their rides
you'll rise to flee
and
seek to hide
All in vain, they've got your name
marked as sold to play their game
Sold from birth for
pain
and
shame
from birth to death for nations' name
If you'd be free seek births' Before
and cry,
"I am your whore no more!"