Slurs and slander, interruption – hey you there,
I have an idea – judge not lest ye be
hung, drawn and quartered, two long shanks flailing in
the wind. The last smell you’ll inhale will be the
scent of your entrails becoming your extrails.
Pain. Lots of pain. Perhaps someone will say a
prayer and cry a tear in their beer for you.
Probably not, though. Check you out, with no eyes,
so you can’t see the people you criticize.
Maybe then you won’t be so loose with your tongue.
Your ears – well, you can’t hear anyway; so why
keep them? Lend them to a friend, Roman, country
man or woman who might find a better use
for the gifts God has bestowed on your worthless