Fully accustomed to customs of misfortune
Children at war dancing one corner before wall
With foul drums and offside melody in the pitch
Glance her imported dish and hairstyle
Glance the snow-like bedspread on her honey moon
Even his fabrics are up to madness, I run!
Figures in great house gem in black-markets
Amnesia at work nakeding root of black family
As dust designs well the acclaimed beauty
Of shrines. Cobs cut across all seats and services!
Since available men worship in disguise
Caesar cries for his tithe with might
While gods without resurrection bleed on Calvary
Dying on the cross before nails of modernity
Towns be the Golgotha!
Standing on the public altar of the big two
Hatched by the glorious exit of uncounted home one
And thrilling burial given by home hands
I could see tornado roaring on thirty six hills
Arrows and swords singing in from north
Trekking all roads of life with bloodshed
As only achievement of services of friday and sunday
Not a product from coven it is.