If I walk on water,
And say I did,
It's denied, and disputed,
and with pious melodies put together,
If I claim that the men of church gathered armies,
you're offended and lament that I'm ruining your Sabbath.
(Am I offending God, the one easily offended.
Am I offending God, or the image of God.)
He sees all, it is said, and of Him there is only the word, could be seen maybe but one focuses on one channel only.
If Jesus comes again, he will be crucified again, the priests screaming with their choirs: tar and feathers.
(Am I offending God, the one easily offended.
Am I offending God, or the image of God.)
When blood turns into ketchup, the spirit, flesh into filet, then based on conviction one can clean house. And of course, in combat He is on our side, after we've been devout and prayed properly.
Oh Viktor, what will come of the human saplings of your garden, when the songs are only of shit or fucking.
Sin lives in Juice and Ismo and Kojo, while men to their tunes dance with erect penises.
If the devil is accepted into the big sacred work, I guess one can write God into an unholy mix.
And is His place in the chambers of the chapel,
is He the freezer of our souls.