Sitting upon the rock, brain burning
In that solitary land
There I fall between two stools
I think bright as a button
As any stretch of imagination

As gentle as a lamb
I guess lines
Figuring out the things
Getting down nitty gritty
But I faint dead away

No heads or tails
But I reconcile
Like martin Luther
Between black and white
I scratch remaining forehead

Buildings blackened by fire
rooted shops pockmarked with bullet holes
the trench of death hangs over braggaoille
the public of Congo
is just a battlefield for civil war

bloated corpses litter the streets
as cobra and Zulu militias
drunk and drugged fire heavy
mortars and machine guns
at everything that moves

terrified residents hole up
behind barricaded doors
then in the morning
they hear answers to their prayer
the foreign legion is coming

In the heat of early morning
On a hill they call a skull
The roaring of angry mob
They had settled to a lull

They cast their eyes upon the man
A man whose hand and feet were bound
They saw him cry in anguish
They heard the hammer pound

They watched the ****** woven thorn
They crowned his head
They watched the ****** cross
Of wood dropped in the ground

The solder gambled for his clothe
They watched them win and lose
They saw a sign above his head
Said king of Jews

The sky grew black as night
They scatter in fright
The work was done
Redemption had won a battle without fight

The precious years of life
The strength of intellect
The bright vision of youth
The spiritual aspirations
All are consumed in the fire of lust

The youth who has boasted of his liberty
Now finds himself a slave of mammon
He is in worst of bandage
Holden with cords of his sin
The glitter and tinsel that enticed him have disappeared
He feels the burden of his chain

Sitting upon the ground
In that desolate and famine stricken land
With no companion but the swine
He is fain to fill himself with the husks
Of gay companion who flocked about him in prosperous days
And ate and drank at his expenses
There is no one left to befriend him