Not you they hate but who you love
the Holy One sitting above,
and so they take it out on you
and yet they hate Him, you in lieu.
Not you they know nor who you know
for He has made you white as snow,
and they are mired within their mess
not knowing they’re in hopelessness.
Not you they see but someone else
but really they’re of someone else,
the harpy’s iceberg, not the ship
lurking, immense, we see the tip.
Not you they love, oh not at all
since they are Adam’s, of the Fall,
and so we were and would be still
if Christ had never left that hill.