Here in the land that Abraham was promised to receive
We listen to you catechize from your pulpit overseas
You mourn the proof of our barbarity

But dry your eyes, oh Pharisee
A settler’s can't we both speak
We both read from the same old played-out scripts and hum familiar tunes
Broadcast on fixed frequencies
Stuck in locking grooves

We both profess noble intent
As we civilize human impediments
If your hands are clean, then *noblesse oblige*
Wipe those "Who, me?" looks off of your faces and concede:

Our designs are separated by
Nothing more than place and time
Different scenes, same crimes
Pray, let him who’s without sin cast the first statues of
Former rogues turned folk heroes
That your forefathers hung

Don't lecture me about plundered soil
While you loaf upon your father's spoils

We want nothing more than what you already have:
A comforting set of exculpatory "facts"
Like, say, the myth of an empty land
And a conquest so complete
We can pull these tanks from our streets and
Hand the loose ends over to bureaucrats and
Become just like you:
Lounging carefree in cafés
Absolved from sin and human grenades
*Entre nous*-
How did your desert bloom?