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by John Tate 
In my magnifying glass
there're dragons flying past
nefarious terrorists nary embarassed
as they just don't care if they're in error
in engineering acts of daring in linear smearing
fashion. Never fearing they'll be gnashing teeth in
the christian hell some christians think is beneath the
swelling surface of the sun or earth just waiting to
swallow up all those who do not go along with the
preposterous notion that the Son'll come with a
swishing motion with the sword which is shooting
out of his mouth, against the necks of they who
doubt and don't get down on their knees and bow
and beg and cower and plead and agree with the
idea that HE IS LORD! THREE IS FOUR!
Obey HIS ordinances, or be ignored and be forced
to sneeze and snort the stench of Hell, forevermore!
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