Wed
May
20
To you
To he who has built towers high
Upon scores and swells of lies,
Lo, I had asked of you to pull the plank from your eye
And for so great a time, you have denied.
Now the hands have met, your time was surely spent
You’ve grieved and wept, all of your laments
But failed to atone, so the lies have grown—
Straight to your bone. Callous and Cold.
To you that profits from greif
Who has manifested greed, through the deceased,
I whispered to you in the wind, yet you have just teased
You denied my words, ‘cause they’ve made you freeze
You’ve been lifting the corrupt up off their knees
But now you shall fall, come down with this disease
All has been said, you’ve already been marked
But yours is far from the start;
