The prophets' words are lost and torn, from a black bible that's badly worn, and the sincerity of a martyr reborn coming to **** millions with his sword is lost to a football crowd that roars and the testament in a bottle washed ashore, lost to phone fiddling and ****-hub ******, Words lost to time that were ever swore.
This is not a poem of blasphemy , if anything, I wish it was the opposite I had written.