Avidité

Avidité

The pigs snuffling at the slop,
All green dollar bills,
Buckets of the richest filth,
And blood is left to spill,

Hold your children bare,
As cold seeps through,
Snorting at the distaste,
Of nothing else to do,

Priests counting coins,
In pews, two by two,
Thinking of possession
Not the works of you,

Black babies dying,
With promises unkept,
Lifeless limp creations,
In darkness they have slept,

Hold your doll in comfort,
But warmth was never there,
Cold as a single bed,
For no one really cared.