Countdown

By opportunity unsought, we become poor,

By knowledge unapplied, we become fools,

By freedom unexcercised, we become slaves,

By pleasure undisciplined, we become miserable,

By manners unheeded, we become brutes,

By truths untold, we become liars.

The march of the centuries is lost,

The wise are perished and their words

Are but kept as odd witticisms,

As we squander all we have

On riotous living

We smile at each other and say, “My friend!”

As hatred seethes in our heart,

With murder on our mind,

We shake hands.

Americans sit idle transfixed

By America’s idol watching American Idol

While thieves lay waste their house.

Is this the House of the Lord?

Where is He?

To our Master, we shall all give account

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