no one sings stastics

I've given up asking God to give life. Month after month the blood flows. It's faithless, and those who rarely watch and pray can look down their nose. Not that he cant, or even that he wont. But I'm sick of watching him not.

Meanwhile the peaceful pray for peace, the strong for strength, survivors survive to sing songs of survival. No one sings statistics.

I cant tell you that he died,
before you had a chance to know him,
before you even knew he lived.
I cant tell you if he even did
inside that empty mocking tomb,
or if, prepared and placed
and left and left he left that space
I cant tell you
Because you cant tell me
'he will rise'


generations squeezed into the soil
Aiding and abetting the cover up
the land still sucks it up
like petrol on a fire

tears soak into sheol
the sandy sponge aint full enough yet.
I have a drink of tea, some Tv, a cake, a sleep, a think, lunch and second lunch.
the belly certainly protrudes but
it is never enough
there is no new life.