The warriors sail off today,
To secure the liberty of our souls
From the dark spirits that haunt us,
Periodically floating in to take of us into slavery.
They load themselves into canoes
Bound for the land of the spirits across the River of Deathly Surrender.
Dear God of our ancestors,
Their arrows can’t kill even a spirit-watchdog.
Their shields can’t parry a stone missile from the spirits.
And that, if they don’t lose their lives to the bloody River.
(Pardon my swear-word, God!)
Would even having nuclear warheads better our fate?
(Rhetorical question, God!)
I ask for your help.
You supplied the Helmets of Salvation.
You forged for them the Breastplates of Righteousness.
You said they should wear the Belts of Truth.
You told them to cover their legs with the Gospel of Peace.
You instructed them to attack only with the Swords of the Spirit.
You provided the Shields of Truth as the only effective defence.
I know you have tried your very best for them.
Even now, I don’t know how to plead their cause,
Seeing as some have resorted to other means,
Relying on their skills and science,
And learning of other nations
Whose ways have not even helped those other people.
But, err… God
Hmm… Just, please, God…
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