The Buzzard swoops without a sound ,
not with love or grace ,
he can be found ,
but moves in for the **** ,
like us he bares not guilt .
So like us who have no shame ,
must make haste unto thy grave .
For we like the Buzzards mouse ,
left in his nest for food ,
the buzzard makes play ,
then sinks it’s teeth into flesh then bone .
For If we don’t hold to account of our Godless ways ,
then the holy one will bring an end. to our thoughtless days .
Our souls are left to march one by one to the tune of Angels cries ,
O morbid sound ,
that shall arise ,
that crash without end against a sandy shaw never to be seen again ..
For
in new glorious bodies are we
then left to burn .
tTo roast in hell ,
like Serloin steaks ,
then hung out to dry on tender hooks all ,
like Butchers bait .
So if there is a lesson to learn ,
take notes of what the preacher says ,
that without Christ we are all condemned .
It’s only by grace that we canst make amends ,
for time is running out for Gods parade ,
of the immortal man .
