There is a green field far away,
Without a barbed wire wall,
And in that field sits a canvas church,
That claims to welcome all.
The priest sits in the pulpit high,
And calls the flock to pray
And like all good obedient lambs,
They beg to be let to play.
No sacrament is shared herein,
In fact, nothing is free,
But you’re welcome if your face fits in,
To buy your cake and tea.
In the cult of the canvas church,
They see through shut tight eyes,
There’s none so blind as them what won’t see,
And are deaf to blatant lies.
At the happy, clappy gatherings
Where exclusion reigns, and the congregation sings,
The songs of peace, of love and smiley things,
They all ignore the bullying..
And the throwing under of the bus,
Of the people now not part of “us”,
And the wickedness of the priest with tea,
And the blatant, vile, hypocrisy.
There is a green field far away,
Without a barbed wire wall,
And in that field sits a canvas church,
That claims to welcome all.
Missives & Musings 