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Pagan Customs
 
Nimrod! O' Nimrod!
Mighty hunter sent!
Your legacy and starry bow,
has stretched across the night,
with the bowstring bent.
Your tower,
in dour,
last hour,
has fallen in its plight.

Nimrod! O' Nimrod!
Blood upon the ground.
Mortality has shown its sting,
in this, your story's told,
yet a tree is found.
Ishtar finds,
noble trine,
growing pine,
and worships you in gold.

Nimrod! O' Nimrod!
Deck the tree with light!
Your high lady, Queen of Heaven,
mystified this foul thing,
of a cultish blight.
Silver, gold,
new and bold,
in the cold,
a tree is made a king.

Nimrod! O' Nimrod!
Christmas is your name!
Now followers in ignorance,
leave presents at your girth,
hearts are all aflame.
Heathen myth,
pagan pith,
lies herewith,
December is your birth.

Nimrod! O' Nimrod!
You've swallowed the world!
By many other monikers,
Saturn or Orion;
Babylon unfurled!
Son of God,
you are not-
wicked blot,
you are winter's prion!

Nimrod! O' Nimrod!
Christians worship you!
Unknowingly in ignorance,
the true believers bow,
to the solstice yule.
Idols smile,
all the while,
offers pile,
below a tree so foul.

By southernblood

© 2017 southernblood (All rights reserved)

 

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