Hypocrisy

I went up on the hillside,
With a loaded .45.
Sitting among the meadowsweet,
I heard a raven cry.

"Wherefore do you sit, you Man,
With a loaded .45?"
Without hesitation I replied,
"Bad Men are bound to die."

First my neighbour rounded the foot,
My aim was good and true.
To rid the world of his like,
My only aim to do.

The shot rang between dunhills,
A crack that grows thicker.
And so the man lay in the grass,
Surrounded by his ichor.

"How long do you seek to sit here?"
That black bird crooned and said.
"Will your judgement be fulfilled,
Before everything is dead?"

"Only those sinners who sin,"
My response was cool and calm.
"And it is I who decides,
Who is right by who is wrong."

"Be not so quick to pass your guilt,
Into another stranger near.
For it won't be until a shot finds you,
That your own sins might come clear."

"I am a proper servant of God!"
My rage I could hardly hold.
"I'll not let a bringer of some plague,
Determine my worth in gold."

"But what is Sin, O relayer of 'truth',
If not the tobacco in your pipe?
What's safe from Sin and fires to you
To another is the Apple ripe.

"If I were to fly to your home to find,
A rye bottle on the shelf,
You who jump to cast the first stone,
Must save a bullet for yourself."