The son of Abraham
A product of the Magdalene Laundries
Of the separation that so often disappears within the blink of an eye
That is all we come from
A crusade on the poor
The residents in the North that buried on purloin Earth
The Holy Wars in which only a swine could come out alive
Oh yes, this is all we came from
Conversions of the young to dark, hallowed spirits
A complete breakage in the sanctity of the women devout to faith
No, this is not unique to one sect
Widespread deceit does not start and end at the gates of the white
The Basilica cannot stop its great feast,
Such as a dove invades great, virtuous lands
The anchor holds no welfare for the peoples it comes over in its voyage
And the heart of this tribe does not stop ticking on its deluded paths
I cannot see an end to this madness
Where the X gives up its hold on us
Where the sun truly shines through its loyal, insistent voice
For not all of us are fish
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