Words of The Lamb magazine

Black smoke clouds encircle a crowd
Of revellers stood outside a church hall,
Fumigating the wounds of the past,
Cigarette ash falls to the earth,
Like the embers of the lost souls who
Never made it back to the front line of recovery,
Many men die before taking the first
Steps towards the upper realms of paradise,
Freedom from bondage of self,
A debt absolved that can only be repaid
By giving away what was freely given to us,
Blessed are the sick who surrender to Him.