Here in the land
That Abraham was promised to receive
We listen to you catechize
From your pulpit overseas
You mourn the proof of our barbarity.

But dry your eyes
Oh Pharisee, a settler's can't we both speak
We both read from
The same old played out scripts
And hum familiar tunes
Broadcast on fixed frequencies
Stuck in locking grooves

We both profess
Noble intent
As we civilize
Human impediments

If your hands are clean
Then noblesse oblige
Wipe those "Who, me?" looks off your
Faces and concede

Our designs separated by
Nothing more than place and time
Different scenes, same crimes

Pray, let him who's
Without sin cast
The first statues of

The former rogues
Turned folk heroes
Your forefathers hung

Don't lecture me about plundered soil
While you loaf upon your father's spoils

We want
Nothing more
Than what you already have
A comforting set of exculpatory "facts"

Myth of
An empty land and a conquest so complete
We can pull these tanks from our streets and

Hand the
Loose ends over to
Bureaucrats and become just like you

Lounging carefree in
Your cafes, absolved from sin
And human grenades, entre nous
How did your desert bloom?

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