Symphony of the violent, un-churched
Caught scripting a screenplay of self
and no one else.
No room at the inn,
That's not a fitting ending
For a new day to be born
And character bending,
You've been to the well,
But were met with scorn
Though there were instructions
They never saw instructions on the wall,
Bent on a path of destruction,
They just wanted to see you fall.
And it flows away and the scapegoats go for the ride.
But there will come a day,
When it's the turncoats are forsaken,
And tried for their lives.
And in the end: so they thought, a funeral for a man-
All in haste,
But as evening descends- our lives are bought-the Father's plan-
Cut to chase*
And if it leaves you empty,
And wanting something more,
You are among the many,
on the ocean floor.
But oh what is the reason, to put off a touch of grace,
An epiphany in a dying world,
Meeting face to face*
Written by Richard Beattie
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