Amos sees a basket of ripe fruit
What do you see? says the Lord
I see a basket of ripe fruit
The time for judgment is ripe
Sweet smelling, shiny-skinned
Juiciness running down between fingers
Like blood on the hands of the murderer
We all pay for the sugary nectars
Under our tongue, turning bitter,
Rotting away our teeth
We cannot speak in our own defense
Our mouths overflowing, full of the fruit
Of our own destruction
I am only saved if you take my plate away
For I can do nothing but eat
What my own hands have prepared
So many dead bodies
Silence
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