Funeral dancers

The speaker finished with final words,
"And the Father's anger was satisfied".
And at the drop of the microphone
there was the clapping of the hands
the cheering from the mouths
and all started singing and dancing.

There somewhere amongst the multi-rows of seats
rested my bossom awaiting on the rest of the speech
which was usual act from me with no idea why
since usually all that followed was jesuits fever.
And in my blood and bone kicked discomfort
like a sheep turning to a party to be the festival meat.

I gathered my sweat and depression, cuddled it neatly
like it was gold from gold coast before the blood became it.
Knowing it was things like this that chained me to the enemy;
hearing lying flies and squatting one would get you titled a murderer.
And so the enemy had me silenced and living on nicotine like it was my last supper,
all I sought for was simple, the truth that brings everlasting peace
but I walked in to hear a murder of an innocent son and get a glimpse of the funeral dancers.

Knowing it was finished but not over I listened troubled,
like living in a horror movie but even worse horror movie living in you.
Surely the purpose of a man's heart is like troubled water;
but it takes a man of understanding to draw it out,
but what if is the man of understanding who is murdered.
It is always wise if you chose to kill the messenger to get the message first.

and when the message reached me it read,
"The King's anger was satisfied"
and that was a mourning trumpet for Hibirus;
a weeping season for Yisraelites,
for the prophets were murdered and now the son.
Yes God's anger was satisfied soon to be poured.

But who will inform the funeral dancers?