You stand here with your white collar
Away from the pulpit your soul is dark
Your thought are worse than mine
Covered in your own flesh, you must think God is small
Only you possess the keys to treasury
You loot away my future with yours
You cover up with power like feathers
Hiding behind a finger, you must think God is small
Little can I understand of all your plights
Little knowledge of your plans
Nothing on what card you want to play next
But God must be small to you if you think he knows less
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem