Broken Religion

Old doors
Broken steeples
Vapid peoples
Fame whores

Once a bastion,
Of love and light.
Dark broken sight
A misplaced stanchion

An absentee father.
A deadbeat dad,
Blamed for all the bad—
Why’d he even bother?

A god whose name was love,
Sent a child to suffer and die,
For us who steal and lie,
Living so very far above.

They call this ancient name of the old man
Assuming he still listens to soiled tongues,
And empty hymns from tainted poison lungs—
A people that haven’t got a Klue, a Klux, or a Klan.

They burn crosses on stolen land,
Curse and kill those whose skin is brown,
Draped in their holy hood and gown—
Holding both gun and gavel in the same hand.

Colonizaron nuestras almas con mentiras,
Un dios compasivo — eso decían.
Nunca redimieron las jerarquías,
Y en sus palmas sangraban nuestras vidas.

Nos arrebataron lengua, hogar y suerte,
Y no dejaron nada — ni consuelo.
No pararán, ni ante el duelo,
Nos ofrecieron solo la Muerte.

A new holy war waged on morado,
We are called illegals in our home.
Only criminals, they claim and intone—
When they’re the ones who stole El Dorado.

Down a golden escalator,
He called us all rapist, murderer—
Any of us who are borderer.
Divinity placed on mandator.

Somos Imagen de Dios
We carry God in our bones.
We make bread from stones—
No matter which side of los ríos.

Stand. Fight.
¡Aquí Estamos!
¡No Nos Vamos!
We are the light.