The trumpet sounds in Zion’s shade, but Jacob’s sons alone must bleed’
While crescented Cain walks free and full, it’s Abel’s kin who pay the heed.
The elders sit in Whitehall’s gate, robed not in sackcloth but in pride,
And bid our boys to Babylon, though none the people's voice supplied.
No prophet speaks, no Urim shines, the ephod’s gone, the ark forgot’
Yet they conscript from chapel pews, while mosque and minaret are not.
They've sold the storehouse, burnt the plough, and fed the swine on Albion's wheat,
While Levi's line is cast aside and strangers dine in David’s seat.
The scroll of law is cracked and dry, its judgments blind, its scales untrue’
For tweets draw chains and prison walls, but rape and knife they shall not rue.
The judges rule with iron tongues but lick the boots of crescent kings,
And Cain still builds his cities high while Abel rots in war’s machines.
Oh, sons of Gog and merchants sly, who set your snares in midnight halls,
You send no vote, no scroll, no call, just scribes with lists and drafthouse walls.
You drained the hosts of Gideon, you mocked the watchmen on the hill,
Yet when the thunder gathers east, you cry for boys you sought to kill.
No covenant, no promised land, just foreign bonds and blood to spill’
And only sons of Bethlehem must march to die on Zion’s hill.
So tell us, Lords of Byword House, whose children shall you truly take?
Will sons of Mecca hear the call, or only boys from Kent and Wake?
You ask for Isaac on the pyre, but keep Ishmael in cushioned peace’
You stir the wrath of Heaven's host, yet beg the watch of war to cease.
But know this well, ye stewards false: the books are kept, the ink is red’
And all the blood of Britain’s sons shall rise and reckon with the dead.
(By John Shenton)