Death and Taxes
Death comes a-calling with coldness of heart.
A priest takes the lead (and gold) from the blest:
βThe Body of Christ, each Christian a part.
This Body of Christ is now laid to rest.β
Deathβs best friend, the Church, is perched on Deathβs right,
holding his breath while profusely sweating.
βThat soul is so young,β he drools with delight.
βFollow ME,β says he, his vows forgetting.
Deathβs next friend, the State, asleep at Deathβs left.
the peopleβs taxes already stolen.
She mumbles,
βTaxes for programs, not theftβ¦
forget these Government members swollenβ¦β
The Church and the State, genetically spliced.
Parasites on Host, the Body of Christ.