Turn to me lady; and shake your waste of Peace
Waist-not apples; I of another gait want nuts
West of your bosom`s broken; the vain priest seeks its piece
Waist-full plumb prayers...rich and juicy he conducts
In his flashy garment like the lightening in the sky
He decrees with swiftness of authority
Stretch a hand of Peace oh beloved
Far-I-See; and sad -you-see
Borrowed far in time to decorate our theme
In a union of hypocrisy we sing
Now we swim in contention
Seeking safety from a drowning threat
Stretching all we are in a bowing retreat
In this pilgrimage of Peace
Our passage is muddy water
Deep and hostile to our quest
Who will lead us to the shore
Where our eyes are forever fixed like the red-hot forge