Bright day, Sunday in the carriage
Damp air in my hay, water sprouts barrage
Croaking gates of the barn, far away across my barren land
Sickly old man yelled “DARN!”, yet no vulture lend their hand.
Cracked soil falling off the sky, dying cattle rising up the hill
Cow men tearing agony abnormally, Farm men gouged their eyes out looking at the bill Desperate times ahead, one by one taken by The Crossroad.
Crooked eyes all they have, nooked lands all they give
“Pray to The Lord” a blessed man said in his rave, staying all night spreading his love. Blessings stay a vast, blessings away by grand.
Be gold and prayers answered, bless the man and his prophet
Lost all his faith and blood gutted, may he not lose his gauntlet
Crying out loud all he wants, silent as a lamb though he may be,
He should stay true as honesty and false as a fraud he shouldn’t be.
Giving fake deeds he won’t see, he should stay true and let honesty be.
Apostles building up anger adoring their nookies
Children swiping treats and spare no cookies
Gleaming eyes of fiery farm men soared up the night
Blinded by the unforgiven hands infected blight
Giving them reasons, kissing their demise
Preaching them Lords, killing their pride
Now it’s time to providence, it’s time to rapture. Now nothing left to give, nothing left to build Now my barren land is destined
Now My Lord is scarred
Now we’re left. Now we died.