Where are the sons of God? the holy  women, and the innocence of a child?  Where ever went  the beauty of true friendship and the sincerity of af a smile.? Where are our morals and convictions? Where is that righteous indignation? And where is truth in this paper chasing, suicidle, soul selling nation?

The mystery of inquity now worketh as we all behold the great falling away.  And only he who letteth will let until he be taken out of the way. But if I have to be the teacher, pastor, prophet, evangelist and apostle.  I'm going to take the Poet's Pulpit to where the church is so afraid to take the gospel.

The church of the living God has opened her legs to sexual immorailty. She's given her heart to menage trois, golden showers, and the orgasms of beastiality. Sunday morning she sings Jesus is my knight in shinning armour while claimming that she's his princess. But yet behind closed doors she's letting her hair down for satan in the beautiful wet dream of incest.

Dear children the mystery of iniquity now worketh as we all behold the great falling away. And only he who letteth, will let until he be taken out of the way. But if I have to be the the teacher, pastor, evangelist, prophet, and apostle. I'm going to take the Poet's Pulpit to where the church is so afraid to take the gospel.

                                                                 written by: the Angry Dove

                                                                                Prince of furious humility