We turn away from the wink and handshake with nothing said,
Flee from the decrepit, starving man as if we had no bread,
Pretend we don’t notice the beautiful girl the monster has eyed;
So unsheathe the silver sword; once again, we pierce His side.

Merchant tyrants laugh and brag and swag at suave cocktail deals,
While babies die, bombs explode, whole families look for meals;
Churches with groomed pastors naively sing and never play their part;
So unsheathe the silver sword; once again, we pierce His heart.

Where are my children, my boy and girl; do I hear their silent cries?
Does the sound rise above the nooks, crooks and preachers of lies?
Or have they been deadened already, never the chance to start?
So should their father take the sword to again pierce His heart?