Poem By Papa Crutch
Fates lost children by the side of the road,
Blind leading blind with their heavy load;
Hopeless captives bound to the trace,
Love's lost fatalities of disgrace.
Here beside this dividing wood I stand,
A weight of words at my command;
When witness is called, I'm ready to start,
From Duty's firm conviction of heart.
No dust-covered finger to enlighten the mind
Of youngest and oldest to the most sublime;
Stones of controversy, contention and conceit
By Self, stockpiled all around my feet.
Here beneath this killing tree I stand
A transfixed gaze on a bleeding man;
When blame starts to form, I'll join right in
By Adam's selfish nature of sin.
Fanatics and strawmen telling tales of fishes
Line one path with crosses and falsified wishes;
But the true path is marked by a faithful line;
And through Mercy's gate morning does shine.