MOCK THE FLOCK

 

MOCK THE FLOCK

 

 

 

We, the superficial fold

 

The hapless deer with defective eyes

 

Who live in muddled hope

 

Beg our cautious Creator

 

Who dealt a wicked hand

 

Brought us in His ill-fated cart

 

Borne by an overwrought porter

 

We, the careless string of His bow

 

To meet our vast request

 

Hallowed be Thy wrath

 

Are we worth Your weight in hate

 

Or not?

 

 

 

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