Moloch

The kings by every name--the bureaucrats,
The legislators, presidents, and queens,
The Secretaries, all the true fat cats--
Devour all the children. Moloch cleans
The flesh from off their bones, discriminates
Against them all, accepting no debates.

The children in the belly of the beast
Are roasted and their screams turned into moos
As gentle as those cows before a feast
Who feast in ignorance that they will lose
The peace of pastures in the morning sun,
Milk-suckled veal before their life's begun.

The sacrificers hear the sounds of peace
And virtue emanating from the bronze
God's lips--they know these children's souls' release
Will bring the jailers to release the bonds
That their imaginations bind them by--
Contrary facts they always will deny.

Their bonds are gone and have been gone--they bind
Themselves and feed their children to the flames
And lift their blackened bones in hopes they'll find
A place where they'll deny their secret shames,
Where finest pheasants fly, cooked, to their plates
No one has placed before them, perfect fates.

They only have to feed Moloch each child
They nurtured at their breasts--the sacrifice
Of all the future's worth it--they're beguiled
Into believing evil can be nice
With just enough burnt flesh and bones made smoke
For Moloch's hunger you cannot revoke.