I write to confirm my resignation,
From the life which leads to condemnation;
About my retreat,
From the way of deceit,
Whose ends are Eternal damnation.
Do the same, my former co - workers,
For your bosses are evil tormentors;
They lure you mildly,
To spend your days wildly,
And join the long list of regrettors.
They promise yu wealth and prosperity,
But their wages are death ansd mysery;
Horrors and pain,
Will be your gain,
When your life of sin becomes history.
Get thee hence, O lucifer, for I do not want you;
I hate your presence, I hate your being.
Don't lie to me that I like your music,
You just took advantage of the radio
In the room next to mine:
The spend the whole day with their rubbish a - blowing,
Then at night you come with the same garbage echoing;
But it makes me sick literally and physically;
It irritates me mentally and spiritually.
That Zimbabwean teenage nonsense just puts me off;
Western 'hip - hop' is devilish enough,
To show that hell is a reality,
Driving all your fans into deep insanity.
I said its enough, I won't serve the Lord;
I won't attend service, I won't read His Word;
I took a casette of 'heavy metal' from my sister's collection,
And tried to listen secretly, avoiding all detection:
It was a foretaste of hell, I switched it off;
It was poisonous, I couldn't stand that stuff;
Could I persuade Vladmir to eat *madora instead of Russian sausages? [edible caterpillars]
He's tasted something better, to him madora would be for savages;
He who has the spirit of an ox, will happily live on grass;
The spirit of a pig will easily thrive on leaves and husks;
The spirit of satan thrives on things of the world,
But the sweet Holy Spirit abides in His Word.
I dont admire those foolish and insane wenches,
Who run out of the bathroom straight into town
Naked and shamelessly dressed;
I would't dare eat oily chicken and fried chips,
Seeing these naked imitators of the west:
Lest I would vomit for I often feel nauseated,
When I see young girls who God created,
With their figures and flabs of flesh shamelessly exposed,
Through their smelly rubbish, which leave them unclothed.
So depart from me, O satan for I don't want you at all;
Burn with those who love you, don't try to make me fall;
But as for me, I have vowed to ever serve the Lord,
Which you once had the chance to do as an angel most adored;
But for your own wickedness, you are doomed to hell,
Making history when from Heaven, like lightening you fell.
But for a season God has given you power to deceive,
Those who His Word of Promise, refuse to believe;
Whose names are not written in the Book of the Lamb,
And by His Grace I know that I'm not one of them.
The Great Tribulation
Africa, America, Asia, Australia,
Europe, Antartica, Islands all over:
Woe unto thee oh corrupt and wicked world!
For the days come wherein ye shall weep,
And laughter will be heard no more,
Days of mysery and perplexity,
In the desert and in the city.
Your towers of Babel, which are high,
Yet are far from the sky,
Shall fall by earthquakes and weapons of war,
Then all your pride shall exist no more.
The richest men shall become vagabonds -
Scrounging for morsels of bread,
In garbage hills and trash heaps,
Then shall ye praise the dead;
For when I fed you to the full,
Ye cursed me to the face -
Fulfilling your wicked passions,
Perversions and confusions.
The tender- hearted shall become a ferocious wolf,
Knowing no mercy, forgiveness, pity, peace nor love;
The daughter shall rise in rage against her mother,
A flame shall be kindled between brother and brother;
Dad's hand which once held pleasant sweets,
To give to his wife and to give to his daughter -
Shall wield an axe or butcher's knife,
And not refrain nor relent to slaughter.
The loving wife shall become a harlot in the street,
Madened by hunger, desiring to eat;
The delicate damsel shall become a whorish wench,
Without costly perfumes, but a putrid stench.
You've lived in pleasure as if in a dream,
Then as if in a nightmare, you shall howl and scream;
As you've loved the dark and haunted sin-emas,
You'll have hallucinations of visitations from Mars.
The fools who've pledged their foolish hearts to satan,
Shall roam the streets with weapons of destruction:
Slaughtering as they go, fiercly screaming threats,
While you'll hide in your houses, infested with lice and rats.
The day will be eight hours long;
The moon will be black, red will be the sun;
Your worst fears will all surely come to pass,
And when they do, for three and a half years
They will last.
(don't be left behind!)
Their teeth are sharp stones,
Their words are ferocious,
They grudgingly feed you and take you in;
They hate the Light which exposes sin.
Murderers, witches, axe brandishers;
Adulterers, sodomites, proud sinners;
Oh had I my own might or my own power:
I would build me a mansion,
I would flourish like a flower;
I would stay far from sinners,
I would fly straight to heaven,
I wouldn't beg, I would rest -
But only God knows what is best.
Barley & Dung
"Son of man, take to yourself,
Wheat and lentils, beans and barley,
Millet and fitches to bake bread;
Eat it lying on your left three hundred and ninety days,
And on your right forty more."
"Won't that be fabulous," Ezekiel must have thought,
"Four hundred and thirty days of cake and rest;"
"You're to bake your bread, son of man,
With the dung which passes out of a man."
"Ah Lord! I've never eaten anything unclean;"
But God doesn't do anything just to be mean;
"Use cow dung instead to bake your bread,
And eat it by measure from time to time.
Thus lying on his side, the prophet obeyed,
Looking down on his city, eating dung bread.
Thousands of years later, the Lord cam himself;
Above Mount Sunset, clothed with a cloud;
He had been looking to His left, as the artists painting tells,
But He was now on His right, Looking dow to this Earth:
A world of folly and frolic, madness and pleasure,
Violence and insanity, corrupt immorality;
Religious systems defiled with statutes from man's head,
Perhaps these, to the Lord, are loaves of dung bread.
Wasted Life
It's nice to live in the biggest house,
Drive the finest car,
Eat the best of meals;
But all these without Christ,
Are but a transient glory;
And retrospect at the end,
Will reflect a wasted life.
I've watched some who enjoyed,
Quality dishes:
Cake and custard, lasagne,
Trifles ice - creams et cetera;
But when their days were expiring,
Those delicacies lost their meaning,
They loathed pure grape juice,
And despised Potuguese roasts;
All this to me was a clue,
That life has a greater value.
Some, of my age group (though young),
Made money and had fun:
Driving neat cars,
Wearing expensive fashions;
Drowning their souls in alcohol,
And all kinds of smoke;
Tormenting themselves with harlots,
And loud wild music -
Partying and night clubbing,
Bewildered in drunken revelry;
But all these could not satisfy,
So by suicide, they chose to die.
The fruits of a tree say alot about its nature:
Some are ugly and despised,
(Like the shapless Pomegranate bush);
But their fruits are delicious,
Beautiful and nutritious.
There are some trees which are attractive,
With thick boughs and gorgeous leaves;
They blossom and bloom beautiful flowers,
Only to bear fruits -
Which are meaningless and poisonous.
What? Are ye also without understanding?
There are some who walk,
The hard an rugged way:
They, by sinners, are despised,
Yet they do not compromise;
When they finally mature,
The Harvest Man thrusts in His sickle,
To reap golden, delicious fruits,
Thus they are showered with Eternal rewards.
Others are princes on earth,
Having all this world has to offer;
They are envied and praised by all,
Yet slowly drifting far from God;
At last the reapers come:
They scream out of torment,
They battle and struggle for breath,
They are brought to nothing in a moment;
They awake in the midst of the sea,
In the dark, burning realms of the lost;
Their poisonous fruits become ripe -
Testifying of a wasted life.
Bloody Men
The fool walks about shamelessly,
Openly declaring his folly;
Wicked men pride in wickedness,
Caring not that their hands are bloody.
The hypocrite will openly sanction,
Hypocrisy by his actions;
The adulterer and the lustfull eye,
Pour out filth and are not shy.
The liar refuses to believe the truth,
But loves words which he can falsely prove;
The irate man and the violent,
Can smite the innocent, and not repent.
There be that bless the wicked and curse the just,
Given over to greed and worldly lusts;
Some support their wickedness with quotes and scriptures,
Shamelessly professing to be candidates for the Rapture.
Depart from me, Oh bloody men!
And let us who love the Lord alone;
The Lord Himself cometh and that is when,
Your folly will be openly known.
Oh how it drains the life out of me -
To hear the wicked rejoice in spiteful mockery:
"He's cast down, he'll never rise;
"Stay away from him, he's a secret sinner;
"Help him not, assist him not;
"See whether that Broken English
"He trusts in will save him."
(Amazing 'believers'!)
Wilt thou embrace leviathan,
And ride his back across a river?
Canst thou hide hot coals in thy bosom,
And not be burnt therewith?
Descend now into a den of hungry lions,
Feed them sadza with a wooden spoon;
Criticize and condemn the sincere pauper,
To justify the wealthy sinner.
But God hears my groaning;
He sees how low I've been abased;
He saw me begging my daily living,
Always asking, never giving;
Probably more than a thousand kilometers I've walked,
In less than a single year;
So much bath and toilet water,
I've been made to drink in this shanty I dwell in:
They remove the latchet from my door of board,
And fill my kettle and jugs while I'm away;
I return, make my supper, eat and drink,
Then they laugh, indirectly they mock.
My eyes have run out of tears, Oh God,
For I know not how to cry anymore;
Hearing the mockings of sinful men,
Irritations, frustrations from wicked men;
Defaming lies and gossip without fear they spread,
For they know that I'm harmless,<;br>They know that I'm a Christian.
Then I remember the days of mother's embrace:
Days of luxury, shelter and security;
The days I had a daddy to hold my hand -
The voice I still remember:
"Watch your step Shasha,"
While climbing a staircase.
But such vain memories don't move me anyhow,
For I've learnt in all trials,
That its not very wise -
To enquire why the former days,
Were better than the present:
For the former days brought the former troubles;
All that the mind retains is that which is pleasant;
And that which was bitter,
Is clothed with sweetness -
Bitter trials of today,
Will be tomorrow's sweet memories.
And God stands by me
Nomatter what man may do,
Out of every trial He has delivered my soul;
Those who war against me,
Are brought to shame;
Those who seek my well - being -
Glorify His Name;
The number of fierce trials
He's saved me from, I don't know:
For His Never - Failing Presence,
Is with me everywhere I go.