If this city were a woman,
She must have earned a bad name by now.
For the number of swords unsheathed,
For the cauldrons of blood beaded,
For the haunting silence that rings in wombs,
For the innocent childhoods weeded,
This is a city, and a holy one!
Holy for whom? The ones who heap
Ungodliness on it.
O children of Abraham,
You are not pagans or witches,
You must remember very sharply,
That the shedding of blood cleanses nothing,
And nothing will cleanse your shedding of blood.
Man remembers the promises of God,
But very casually forgets
The promise God took from him.