Where the Game is Played by the Priest
Ce ou cet(te) article a été refusé d'après la charte. Un commentaire explique les raisons de ce refus.
I used to write to Pope John Paul about things to come, but my letters would never get through to him, probably because there was a gay cult in the church then too. It seems like I did finally get through via Mother Teresa who relayed what I had to say to him: "Mother Superior jumped the gun...". Then came earthquakes, storms, upheaval in Europe, and headless bodies in Peru. Well before you step down on Thursday, I feel that you should read this poem to everyone even if they jumpstart your pacemaker. Read it. It is the greatest creation of the English language, and they will hate you, love you, and scream and shout over it. I am my witness. I am my messenger because everybody has been driven away, and "darkness is my closest friend" (Ps. 88:18). I sent it to Linda McCartney, asking her to put it to music. I suspect that she did, for they dumped scorpions on her and did away with her. If she did it, that musical rendition of the The Closet will be remembered long after the Beatles have been forgotten. So you might try to get it and read it along with her. Yeah, she was a Saint. I am His witness. I am His messenger. (Is. 4219; Rev. 11).
I also want you to know My Baby says; "This is the way; walk in it."(Is. 30:21)
Where love and truth wither and die,
Where gays say, “United we fly!”
Where yes means no, and no means yes,
Where those without can only guess.
Where selfish loveless people play,
Where those with God refuse to stay.
Where the game is played by the priest,
Where the one upheld is a “Beast”.
Where folly reigns and lies are true,
Where jobs appear “out of the blue”.
Where “fair is foul” and “foul is fair”,
Where deceit reigns throughout the air.
Where gay women frustrate men,
Where those without are pecked like hens.
Where men are girls and girls are tough,
Where consummation’s not enough.
Where darkness permits AIDS to thrive,
Where chaos reigns and talk is jive.
Where rational thought is not sought,
Where trained wisdom is all for naught.
Where the aim is domination,
Where drugs supply recreation.
Where plots and schemes are made to cheat,
Where crime and justice never meet.
Where’s naught to fear but a number,
Where jests are made of His thunder.
Where the destination is hell.
Where they all say,”It’s just as well.”
Copyright 9/18/90 Robert Meade”Bobby” “Israel” Deaf Messenger