The earth spawned me so disfigured – would you sculpt me?
A lump without shape searching for some guidance
Your hands did no good; still you put me to the fire
The kiln made firm your mistakes – cannot blame you
Yourself you were made and afraid and a failure
Let loose, so untrained and so stained with your anger.
My skin was soft and still so smooth and wet
With time the clay would dry and eventually set
Still shimmering and still red I could not get why
You're paying for their debts and bow to their pride.
The tradition was passed on
And passed on
And passed on
Everyone and everything was made in the image of their makers,
Who in turn were made in the image of their makers
Everyone gets dented every now and then.
These dents add up until we end up missing vital parts.
We need to break the circle.
This has to stop.
...We need to break free
Today we need to shake our dusty coat
To save us from sending further goats
The statues of old times still stand to this day
The dents on their bodies were never erased.
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