The Afterlife

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Psalm:187

2:25

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Black hood over his eyes
The ever-waiting innkeeper
Dark bells chime over open graves
The sick toll of the Grim Reaper
The death toll keep adding up
Swept up by that street sweeper
Stacked up from Satan’s throne
He just keep digging graves deeper
Black coffins await delivery
Pipeline to the pit of hell
A crucifix made of two rifles
Dark reflection in bullet shells
And the only way to solve this
Seems to be to build more jails
Weighing kilos of that white sin
Some twisted fatal scales
Killings with no motives at all
Murderous crack sales
Cold cases lead to shallow graves
With covered up trails
Maximum prison sentences
With no hope at all for bail
Holy water, tattoo tears
Sick chorus of sirens weal
God bless all the homies
That are all now deceased
Dear Lord, tell me, Jesus
Will there ever be peace
No more nickel-plated burners
Need real change on these streets
Collection plates get rebuked
Over dead bodies, draped sheets
I could tell you things children
That would make you shutter
Things that no man should see
Or ever have to utter
Piercing beautiful Black eyes
Crowbars prying iron shutters
Mummified tattooed bodies
Skulls flushed out the gutter
Gaping, deep flesh wounds
Electric tape, box cutters
Mumbling ghoulish faces
False prophets that stutter
Preying on these children
Foaming mouths mutter
Lost angles going blind
Oh dear, Mary mother
No accountability at all
For any of the others
Billowing dark smoke
Black souls smothered
Tires spinning to escape
The smell of burning rubber
An open burning grave
Inferno 6ft under
Writhing around in pain
Slumped up against a dumpster
You should be a fisher of men
But your boats without a rutter
Please Lord, forgive us all
For how we treat our brother
Let us die at your precious alter
Where the butterflies flutter

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