Chained to the pocket
Dopamine’s rocket
Distraction device stuck by glue
And try as I might
Though I hold it so tight
Of my fingers: watch the hours slip through
So I put it away.
I abstain for a day.
From the drawer, I hear Babylon’s din:
“You’re in exile, slave!
And you’ll swipe to your grave! ”
Out it comes once again to blend in
With my knees firmly bowed
And just one of a crowd
I remember the truth of a king
He’s the one who’s not dead
Who holds me tight instead
And he whispers: “Stand up, and breath in ”
And the air! It’s so clear
Standing up from the fear
Of a culture and king decomposed
For the babe of nativity
Gives us life not captivity
With him king Bab’lon’s lies are exposed!