The bloody world devolves down toward
a Prophet with a sword,
or Messiah with a cross:
Choose ye this day who is your boss.
By the muezzin call, they said,
or by the broken bread?
God mad as heaven
ridin' in at hour eleven?
or a God mad as hell
while the sword on us fell?
But wait! There's Jacob caught in the middle
playin' his fiddle,
while to the new world we turn,
the old one doth burn.
CR, with new novel, Smoke, in progress