The Southern Preacher

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The black-cloaked Southern preacher stands
Pitchfork held tightly in his hands
It worked all week -- he can't let go
Still room there for his Bible, though
He shouts of judgment and who it's from
to the children that were forced to come
And when he's told them how to be
they go back to their poverty
wondering if the truth was used
Does Jesus love me? I'm confused?
Yes, my children. Don't you cry.
It only sounded like a lie.