The messiah now was born

Cast the bronze dirt and 
Call it gold, 
Let the silv'r stories be told. 
The widowers of the city were priests made—
A hundred mark'd bibles were sold.

Cast the lyrical god today!
Oh! cast the god that we've made!
Cast the god of grace
Dur'ng the month of March
And play the festive day with joy!

Half the trees for sky-arched beams
And raise the band of flutes. 
Roast the forest to build a church
As the crowd celebrated with lutes—
And people were inebriated in an elated manner.

All this for the god of clay; 
And all this on a holy day. 
All this has left
The fields decayed—
Oh! how the believers humbly prayed!

Together the mob of faith they screamed, 
Assembled their hoods in teams, 
United by their manifestation (and forgot—) 
They burnt the heathens with their damnation. 
Centuries later, saints were rectified—

All in the name of god—
'And we commit 
His body to the ground; 
Earth to earth; ashes 
To ashes; dust to dust.'

Dale Chou
2002-03-26