No tears in the land.

Hard lines curve when they meet the verve of a prophet
Drunk on words burned in his heart's eye-sockets.
Fed by the bread of promised peace when he's dead
Led him to eat meat out of unclean beaks ahead.
Patiently waiting for more thoughts to resound in his head,
He's being carried along to speak God's grief in His stead.
Calling a people to their knees before there's no time for reprieve,
Still they wait for rain, when it's different water they need.