by Dan Sturn
To my friend that I met on my porch . . .
Early, coffee, on a Saturday,
ready to talk to the Witness today,
having read the watch tower page
surprisingly not about the hell
we’re all so sure to pay.
For though I’ve earned an honest wage,
my work an old neglected cage,
beliefs' been like a swinging door,
fallen prey to a devil’s sage.
‘Cause we’ve been through this once before,
watching them wage the good and evil war.
Find a sheep to rally at Amway.
Come between the sailor and whore.
And thus comes the Witness on the fray,
up on my porch, so we can at least pray.
Bring Him up on my bright morning stage,
And nudge me from my cage,
to the watch tower way.