The man who saw the pilgrim
Drove by in his broken car,
He gave him twenty dollars
To spend on whisky bottles and whores.
He knew it might be between them
An unspoken heavy verse
That that man in that car right there
Might one day see the worst.
He was a true Christian
And knew it very well
That this world there right between us
Might as well be living hell.
The good world was forgotten
The bad world came and gone
The thirty-first persecution had already just begun.
So that man passing out his dollars
Saw the broken man at the bar.
He did not say a word in judgment
But just drove by in his car.

It was all just that Christian
Right there in that car
Who proved His God did live one day
And died upon a cross.
So the world was angry
So the world was cross
They took that man in his car
And counted him as a great loss.
His parents, they both hated him
His brothers were great men
His life was fallen to pieces
But he counted it as vain.
The thirty-first persecution
Was that only man thus far
For the whole world had forgotten
Christ's words from the very start.

He, like a poet's brother, dreamed to die upon the rack
But they charged that he was cursed to live
And wander the railroad tracks.
Thus the world wandered, it drew to its great fame
The world was ever joyful, and the Christian called insane.
Thus was the punishment
That Pilgrim put on him
For when the Christian gave him money
He said, "Good deeds, they are a sin."
Thus the world went on and on,
And Christ was little known
They forgot that man who fed the pilgrim
Who the world, he proved Christ rose.

Pharaoh Sin, you shall be destroyed.
The Pyramids of your world grow
As you hide the truth from mankind.
It is all real, yet they are pacified.
It is all real, yet they are pacified.
It is all real, yet they are pacified.
Understand the truth, my people...
A false shepherd is risen up
Who does not visit the young;
Does not heal the broken;
Does not feed the flock;
Does not come near the one that stand'th still:
But rather kills them, and tears the claws
And eats their fat and wealth.
He has war in his arm, and an evil eye for greed.
He is an Idol---
And if you believe on him
You shall see no truth
For he shall hide it all from you.
But if you see what is real
And what is truly happening
You shall know the truth.
And the truth shall set you free.

Oh, reading the various crimes
Committed against my brethren
The thing that scares me most
Is not the tortures, but the
One or two I've read who waivered.

She sits and reads and thinks,
"Yes, I like Mildred, she is right.
"I do not like being offended by books.
"I like being distracted by the airpods.
"I like watching my TV and doing my breakdown
"Of the book on the internet.
"The book is too boring.
"I want to have fun."

I am mocked, scorned and hated
By all men, called "Wicked and Lazy".
I make works that should be praised
For Millennia, but am hated and called proud.
As Paul says, "As unknown, and yet well known; 
"As dying, and, behold, we live; 
"As chastened, and not killed;""
I live lonely... and Pharaoh Sin
Rules the world, saying, "I have made the river."
When his arm is broken, and he is
Taken to the grave, the stars shall dim
And the Sun shall dim, and the moon also.
And there, shall the LORD cause my enemies
To see I have obtained mercy, and truth, and peace, and righteousness.

Mercy, Mercy, come to me
Though I fail a thousand times.
I am Truth... no man intercedes
For me, no man pleads my cause
And I have no justice.
They say, "He has an easy life
"And is idle and fat and lazy."
Who, then, shall find the mysteries of God?
If not I, with my constant work?
Was not Mary at the LORD's feet?
Did she not take the better place
Than even Martha, busily doing her business?
Christ said, "I have accepted your sacrifice",
And His arm shall bring salvation to me.

I shall honor you with a poem,
Mighty scholar, deep in breadth.
The great depth you wrought
With a diction of excellence,
And everything so meticulous.
There are few names as impressive
For their mighty work of scholarship.
Of which, you are like the good doctor
Luke, in your authority and meticulous
Poring over everything to create your opus.
I am a light and treacherous poet
Passing the idylls away, so the mind can pleasantly
Muse upon our Savior... and know.
You are a serious minded scholar.
No, the breadth and depth and scope of my learning---
If ever there should be such a boast from me---
You surpass me. I know you by your authority
And know the reputation you have
By simply seeing the feat and achievement 
You have wrought in simplicity.
May I be as diligent in preserving truth
My brother in Christ...

When you fall you shall arise
When about to die, you shall
Be preserved. The Angels shall 
Bear you up, until your time.
For they shall beat your enemies
Into dust---but do not speak to them.
They speak like a conscience into you
And all tell you the way---
Do not talk to them, do not worship them
Simply let them go do their work
For they cannot die, but rather
Are the stewards of your soul.
Do not worship the angelic host
But know they were just like you
At a time, upon this Earth and have
Come back to store up their treasures, too.
Which is you, who they loved
Though they don't know anymore who they were
Or who you were, only that they love you always.

Till the soil, break the clods,
Plough the fallow ground.
Whatever you do in life
Do so---However, Satan
Hinders the righteous.

One can be a Clydesdale
And be confined to a stall;
Powerful enough to pull
Two tons, but weak
And starved of affection.
That is the Meek one
Who shall inherit the earth.
And if the horse in the stall
Nibbles upon the passeryonder's apples
And does not bob its head or pin its ears
But rather is thrilled for a little bit of kindness
It is meek and mild, and one day
The Master shall come, and take
Him out of the abusive home
Purchase him from his cruel owner,
And train him to till the field
And make him strong.
For that is a true horse's desire
Is to run fast, to pull the sled
And to till the acreage.