The house slumbered under its blanket of trees,
Safe from the piercing moonlight.
Only the cool breeze brushed the leaves
In the silent blackness.
In the dead of night the dry leaves were crushed,
Loud voices tore through the stillness.
They planted their white crosses,
Poisoning the ground.
The hands worked fast and the flames flew up,
Their crimson jaws devouring the cross.
Christ appeared, tears in His eyes,
Crucified again by the men in white.