By the Rivers of our Fundamentalist Captivity By the rivers of our fundamentalist captivity we sat down and wept, and wept. And when we could weep no more, tears dried in the sun, we leapt. Preaching the poetry of protest, snarling songs of salvation.
Psalm 137, Exile and Rocket Launchers Songs of home, songs of hope, songs that keep a faith alive, are defiled and profaned when they become the trivial entertainment of voyeuristic oppressors.