No three kings on camels these days
They'd be riding hunched in APV's
And no innkeeper with stable on hand
Sympathetic and ready to please;
No, it would be a refugee camp,
Or some site in a war zone'
Or some densely packed place
Where luxury is a minute alone.
And the music of a birth maybe
The screaming of battle sounds
With no angels hovering overhead
Just the screech of incendiary rounds.
The promised kingdom not yet come
Nor very little sign of any relief
From the constant killing by those
Fighting to impose their belief.
Nor very little chance it seems
Of being any imminent release
From those waging war in the name
Of a supposed god of love and peace.
Yet the miracle of birth continues
The urge to grow and procreate
And every mother must weep with pain
To birthing children into so much hate.
And we'll sing our Christmas carols
On that very special night
While around us in the darkness
They are just waiting for the light;
And only one thing is certain
In those hours stretching ahead:
Many a mother's son will be wounded
And many a mother's son be dead.
No three kings on camel these days
Just a population on their knees
Terrorised and subjugated by
Those thugs with their APV's
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