y Nicole JoAnne Littleton
The labor is over and your son is
born
The doctor lays him on your breast
Ten fingers, ten toes, he's perfect, but Lord!
A foreskin, oh no! Circumcision is best.
It won't hurt, he won't remember it,
The doctor collects his fee
They strap him down bit by bit
If the parents could only see
His cry pierces the air so sharp
Like the knife raking his skin
Hey Bible-thumpers, is it really true,
God commands we mutilate the innocent?
After it's over, he trembles and shakes
His features are more blue than light
How can you watch him helpless
Unable to stop it, or fight
When the doctor placed him on you
He was perfect and whole
You handed him to the butcher,
May God save your soul.