I Wrote This Instead of Screaming

They wrap their hate in holy guise,
call it mercy as innocence dies.
Quote scripture like a butcher's blade,
and call the mutilation aid.
They say it's choice, they say it's care,
while breaking children mid-prayer.
Freedom, they grin, with teeth too white,
but freedom dies beneath their light.

They call it speech, 
not damage, not sin.
But if your words can cage a heart, 
what world are we living in?

You call it faith, I call it fear.
You preach freedom, but the end is near.
You dress your violence up as truth,
then sell salvation to the youth.
You call it love; I've seen the bruise.
You call it right; I've seen the ruse.
If this is liberty's debut - 
then liberty's abused.

You say 'convert', you say 'repair',
as if love needs an owner's prayer.
Shock and scripture, shame and sin,
all to make us fit your skin.
And when we bleed, you light a match,
say, "See? The devil's fighting back."
But heaven weeps for what you've done,
in God's own name, you block the sun.

You hide malice in debate's dress,
cloak cruelty in legal stress.
But speech that slays is sin's domain. 
No baptism can wash that stain.
And mercy never mutilates,
no matter how clean you legislate.

You call it faith, I call it fear.
You call it freedom, but we're still here.
You build your pulpits, raise your flags,
but truth still blooms where silence cracks.
You call it law; I call it chains.
You call it cure; I call it pain.
If this is liberty's golden rule, 
you've claimed the right to remain cruel.

So burn your books and bless your guns,
rewrite the sin, absolve the sons.
But we'll keep singing, loud and clear.
You can't erase what brought us here.
Because silence is your holy tool,
and I refuse to play the fool.