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When the Spanish Empire ruled the world

Spending all the Indians’ gold

Living High on the backs of Heathen Slave Labor

Wrapped in their Savior’s fold

Twenty-five percent, yes one out of four

Was a Priest, a Brother, or a Nun

To say prayers full time for the sins of man

To God and Mary and the Son

And I would ask if God heard their prayers

Over the tortured screams of the damned

Beautiful and innocent and made in Her image

Killed in his name, put to flame.

But can I ask that question in America

In the year two thousand ten

Living High in the Heart of Corporate Empire

Buying when they tell me when

Far from the holes that we rip in the Earth

To pull out the fuel for the fire

Far from the pits of Flaming Brimstone

Where they forge our heart’s desires

Far from the villages where we drop our bombs

Far from where we crush whats wild

Far from the tears that fall to the Earth

When a mother weeps for her child.

Categories: poetry, politics
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