The Cold Men

We were children, innocent.
In a garden, our days were spent.
Under the honey sun.
No sorrow in anyone.
Hand in hand and full of mirth.
Children of a sweet earth.
Naked, without sin in our eyes.
Nothing broke our loving ties.
The cool streames flowed.
Nothing to be owed.
We were children, completly free.
There was no forbidden tree.
The light was ours, and we were clean.
There was warmth in night, day, inbetween.
But down from the sky,
came men, dour and cold, who sold a lie.
Said there was a man up in the clouds.
He demanded we were black shrouds.
That much us ashamed in our bare skin.
Told us were shit and full of awful sin.
Shame overtook us, and sorrow filled us.
Shame a demon that broke us.
No longer were we happy in the garden.
We must work to gain god’s pardon.
The night become black with sour doubt.
What the cold men’s stories all about?
The cold men, made us hurt.
Put us in jean and skirt.
Filled us with sorrow, and fear.
How they feasted on every tear!
They had come down from the sky.
Told us we were broken, and to god cry.
Finally, we pushed them back to the stars.
We’re still left with heartbreak, unhealed scars.
We were children, whole, innocent and free.
Missionary with selfishness ruined our destiny.
Salesman looking for notches in their bible.
Of such cruelty they are always liable.

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