Falling from the heaven’s gate

toward the ruined Jericho

the river cuts the valley straight,

between two lands forged long ago.

 

From its waters kings rose up

anointed by unfounded creed,

that all who drink its holy cup

ensure their words live on in-deed.

 

Of deeds and words, where is their fruit?

that hasn’t poisoned all that flows,

or tainted tree from branch to root

so much that now it’s all that grows.

 

Beyond the valley men cry out

their kingdoms raise themselves to dust,

their eyes raised up their voices shout

where are the gods in who we trust.