The day will come when research clinics,
cosmetic shops, laboratories,
sewers and landfill sites will open
and give up those whom no one sees.
They'll rise and march against the living:
unborn, undead and unforgiving!

A host of billions, all the children
who never saw the light of day
will be emerging from the refuse
around the world, come out to play
and wreak their vengeance on the living:
unborn, undead and unforgiving!

Armed with the instruments that killed them,
all those unwanted will condemn
their foe and do unto their mothers
what once their mothers did to them,
an army dreaded by the living:
unborn, undead and unforgiving!

Where icy winds from the Atlantic
blow harshly through the rocky crags,
the eagless in her lofty eyrie
sat brooding over her two eggs.

And when her mate returned to feed her
with leverets of tender age,
the eagless told him, 'I've been thinking,
I don't want eaglets at this stage.'

'What are you on about?' he asked her.
'I mean I've other things to do -
I'll terminate the eggs and dump them,
and I'll go hunting just like you!'

'We could take turns,' her mate suggested,
'I wouldn't mind resting awhile.' -
'My mind's made up, I shall not deal with
ungrateful nestlings' needs and guile.'

'They're mine as well,' the eagle told her,
'as father I shall draw the line!' -
'Don't be ridiculous,' she answered,
'I laid those eggs, so they are mine!'

'They're living birds, you can't just kill them!' -
'They're not, they're simply blobs of down:
they are potential birds, but only
become birds once they hatch; don't frown!'

And thus she pecked her beak abruptly
into the eggs, rapidly fast,
over and over, and the eaglets
inside them shrieked their first and last.

The eyrie was entirely covered
in blood and brains and little parts
of inner organs, claws and feathers,
four eyes, four wings and two small hearts.

Spreading her wings, the eagless stated,
'I'll fly out for a little sup
and maybe for a bite of herring;
please be a dear and clean that up.'

If there were such a thing as God, would he stand by
to watch a billion of his unborn creatures die?

On the first day the cell gets moving when
it writes its own genetic recipe,
just like a seed that carries its own plan
and the ingredients to grow and be
life, not created by external force
but swiftly growing from its natural source.

And if that cell reaches the uterus,
an embryo will hatch day number five
and settle in the womb where soon he is
fed by placenta to sustain his life -
life not created by external force
but swiftly growing from its natural source.

Then, at four weeks, his heart begins to beat,
his ears are formed, his face and mouth and veins;
week number five his limbs, his hands and feet
develop, and he starts to use his brains:
life, not created by external force
but swiftly growing from its natural source.

Week number nine - all organs are in place,
he starts to move, and he can make a fist.
He now has a distinguishable face,
a foetus in the amniotic mist:
life, not created by external force
but swiftly growing from its natural source.

Week twelve: he starts exploring what is there,
touches his head, the cord with which he dwells,
he sucks and kicks and strokes his downy hair
and sleeps and wakes like everybody else:
life, not created by external force
but swiftly growing from its natural source.

And suddenly his rapid heartbeat's hushed
by powers that he cannot comprehend,
his skull and every limb are being crushed
by his own mother who decides to end
his life by means of an external force
and scoop his body from its natural source.

When settlers slaughtered Indians
to take their land and place
and, with infected blankets,
tried to snuff out their race,
there were some prudent voices
who called for sympathy,
‘These people mustn't suffer,
why don't you leave them be?’
But, with a scornful simper,
the others would reply,
‘These aren't real people,
not such as you and I.’

When black men were, like cattle,
branded and whipped and bred,
their families separated,
lives hanging by a thread,
there were some prudent voices
who called for sympathy,
‘These people mustn't suffer,
why don't you set them free?’ -
‘A person's right to freedom
to them does not apply:
these aren't real people,
not such as you and I.’

When Jews were persecuted
with pogroms everywhere
for their beliefs and customs
and living in despair,
there were some prudent voices
who called for sympathy,
‘These people mustn't suffer,
why wouldn't you agree?’ -
‘They'll never be like others,
no matter how they try:
these aren't real people,
not such as you and I.’

When Israel gets rid of
its natives by design,
massacring children, women
and men in Palestine,
there are some prudent voices
who call for sympathy,
‘These people mustn't suffer,
but you refuse to see!’ -
‘We just defend our country,
that right you can't deny;
these aren't real people,
not such as you and I.’

When children are dismembered
in wombs at others' whims
and writhe in pain and struggle
to hold on to their limbs,
there are some prudent voices
who call for sympathy,
‘These people mustn't suffer,
will you not heed their plea?’
The answer is most likely
a condescending sigh,
‘These aren't real people,
not such as you and I.’

There always will be people,
no matter what they do,
who aren't just as human
as I and maybe you.

All men have been created equal,
but some of them aren't men, you see:
they're pigs, rats, parasites or filthy
stray dogs: they are the enemy!
To slaughter them is but a service
to humankind, you think, because
they are subhumans, apes and therefore
not covered by our human laws.
Don't look at pictures of the victims,
for they may open up your eyes;
just chant the chants and join the chorus:
Dehumanise! Dehumanise!

Their race, religion or their mental
or their developmental stage
disqualify from being human
and justify your bitter rage
against their mere existence, claiming
these animals need to be slain
for being dirty, strange, unwanted
or different, in a big campaign!
Don’t look at pictures of the victims,
for they may open up your eyes;
just chant the chants and join the chorus:
Dehumanise! Dehumanise!

I have one life which keeps me on my toes.
I have a type of life that is unique,
like that of everybody else, and seek
to satisfy the purpose that I chose.

I have one life. I make the best of it,
enjoy its beauty and its pleasures, face
its dares like everybody else, embrace
its gifts and leave my mark as I see fit.

I have one life, and one life only, just
like everybody else. I was not there
before and won't be going anywhere
once my remains and thoughts have turned to dust.

I have one life. I cherish it a lot,
and for that very reason nothing, I
mean nothing can convince me to deny
that of somebody else, no matter what.

During their annual business dinner
God and the Devil checked the notes
of all their recent slaughters, telling
each other buoyant anecdotes
of their adventures. Reminiscing
on his past heydays, God recalled
how his disciples glorified him
with genocides in days of old,
with human sacrifices, witch hunts,
the Inquisition, holy wars,
and after he had finished ranting,
the two began comparing scores.
God and the Devil know the score:
whom will you help to butcher more?

God made the start, ‘Religious conflicts
killed thousands: children, women, men.
Seems the crusades are fading out now:
some thousand in Afghanistan,
but with the hatred and confusion
I spread in holy books I still
reach individuals who make it
their business to fulfil my will:
thousands of honour killings, stonings,
murders of atheists and gays
and the apostates who won’t follow
my laws in the determined ways.’
God and the Devil know the score:
whom will you help to butcher more?

‘Religious terror was successful
in wiping out thousands of lives
of those professing wrong religions
on which their detestation thrives.
Thousands are there who killed their children
obeying me, Almighty God:
some by denying medication
while others didn't spare the rod.
Due to my ban on condoms, hundreds
of thousands died of HIV,
and every mass and serial killer
has been brought up worshipping me.’
God and the Devil know the score:
whom will you help to butcher more?

The Devil said, ‘You’ve lost a lot of
disciples in our little game,
with people openly refusing
to kill each other in your name.
The less you're worshipped, praised and prayed to,
the less the bloodshed on this Earth,
and thanks to ignorance and progress
I'll soon catch up for all it's worth.
You boast that last year you've been sending
hundreds of thousands to their doom;
but I caused fifty million mothers
to kill the children in their womb!’
God and the Devil know the score:
whom will you help to butcher more?

So God called Rogziel, and he told him,
‘We need to think of one infaust
event to kill hundreds of millions,
something that makes my Holocaust
look like a children's party favour,
a tragedy that will secure
my lead, a grave unprecedented
calamity that can assure
mankind that I am still as wrathful
as in the days of old, back when…’
He hesitated for a moment -
‘I think,’ he said, ‘I have a plan…’
God and the Devil know the score:
whom will you help to butcher more?

Clara dressed up, excited
about her latest date –
what kind of doctor was he,
and would he show up late?

He was a man of culture,
gentle and well-behaved,
and Clara kept on wond'ring
how many lives he’d saved.

The restaurant was crowded,
but soon the waiter led
them to their seats. A woman
came up to him and said,

‘Thanks, doctor, for your kindness.
Now I'm in shape, and on
Sunday I will be running
the charity marathon!’

‘Who was that?’ Clara asked him
after she went away.
‘That lady is a patient,
I trashed her child today.’

How dare you occupy my womb
and nestle down like a princess
on silken pillows, unaware
you cause discomfort and distress.

No one invited you to come
in here, so now the doctor cures
me of your body, for my womb
belongs to me, and so does yours!

Take arms and legs and torso
and throw them in the bin;
the brain we'll use for research,
so put it in the tin.
There's bloodstains on the floorboards,
just give them a quick wipe -
another patient's waiting
for treatment of this type.
We're helping with abortions,
not of our own free will:
we came here to help people,
and now we have to kill.

Our current job description
changed radically by stealth,
and now they call the killing
of children ‘women's health’,
like pregnancy were somehow
a terminal disease
with someone else's death as
the only known release.
We're threatened with dismissal
if we refuse, but still
we came here to help people,
and now we have to kill.

Prayers and hymns howl like an icy wind
throughout the haunted streets where faith impacts
their chance to reach the sane who might rescind
their views in view of scientific facts.

As long as the right to life is preached,
the reasonable won't be reached.

Marie Stopes pioneered the concepts of
family planning, contraception and
of birth control in times when views like these
were quite unlikely to find many a friend.

Since she prevented pregnancies, some called
her antilife; she managed to disarm
them by insisting that, once life emerged,
this life must be protected from all harm.

In all her clinics nurses had to sign
a declaration they would not inform
about abortions nor assist in them,
because for some this might have been the norm.

Her friend Avro Manhattan pressured one
of his kept women to abort - the case
came to Marie's attention; disgustedly
Marie called him a murderer to his face.

Will Carpenter named his abortion shop
after Marie and soon found out that this
was not a good idea because Marie
sued him for libel and for damages.

Two decades after she had died, she still
was known by many, causing quite a stir
back when Marie Stopes International
named their abortion business after her.

They were successful from the very start,
and every time somebody raised a brow
about their unbefitting choice of name,
they said, ‘Who cares, she will not sue us now!’

‘You must get an abortion, Ronda,’
her mum and dad went wild.
‘What will our pastor and our brethren
think if you have a child?’

Her fiancé and future in-laws
continued, too, to urge
her, ‘We do have a reputation
to think of in our church.’

‘Once we are married we'll have children,
as many as you want,
but God does not intend our union
now to be blessed upfront.’

Facing such opposition Ronda,
finally giving in,
made an appointment to get rid of
the symptom of her sin.

But as she went to bed that evening,
the image of a friend
kept haunting her who had aborted
and started to descend.

She would be hearing children's laughter
out of the blue and sigh,
‘I can't believe I killed my baby,’
and start to sob and cry.

After a sleepless nightmare Ronda,
when she got up at morn,
decided that she'd keep her daughter,
and Emily was born.

When she was seven years, her mother
who volunteered with strong
emotions in the pro-life centre
brought Emily along.

Next door was an abortion clinic,
and in the weirdest twist
she, of all people, bonded with a
foul-mouthed abortionist.

Norma McCorvey was not only
assisting to abort
but had made history by winning
Roe versus Wade in court.

Returning Emily's affection
still made her slightly sweat;
Norma had dealt with many children,
just not a live one yet.

Then, during their unlikely friendship,
Norma one day arrived
in Ronda's office who informed her
how Emily survived.

As Norma listened to the story
she felt her guts entwine;
the thought of Emily aborted
sent shivers down her spine.

Another day she passed a poster
displaying, bit by bit,
fetal development, and Norma
just stood and stared at it.

Looking at tiny eyes and fingers,
she realised the plight
of children in the womb, declaring,
‘Good heavens, they are right!’

Distraught at such a heavy burden
her conscience had to face,
all of a sudden Norma started
reflecting on her case.

She couldn't put, like other people,
her past upon a shelf,
‘My lie has made abortion legal -
I can't forgive myself!’

‘But Jesus can and will forgive you,’
Ronda assured her friend,
‘and Christians fight to make abortion
illegal in this land.’

The thought of an authority with
the power to forgive
her what she'd done appealed to her and
restored her will to live.

She bowed to one whom she believed to
reclaim her soul from hell
and who'd provide a better place for
the little ones as well.

Welcomed by Christian congregations,
Norma commenced her strife,
and with her pastor and her brethren
she's now promoting life.

Pro-Life is usually associated
with people who subscribe to a religion
such as Christianity, and who are taught
to think that way and who may think or not.
And I don't talk about those hypocrites
who justify, decree or execute
post-natal murders for their own religion,
be it that of a god or race or nation,
I talk about the few ones who believe
in equal rights for all of their god's creatures.

And yet, though they oppose the selfish slaughter
of human beings, their belief still renders
hope for the child in some unspecified
time in the future when, as they believe,
he or she will be rising from the dead.
We atheists don't share that faith and therefore
have one more motive to defend their lives;
the reason to be pro-life shouldn't be
religion or the deep disgust at lefties
but a profound respect for human life!

We don't believe that there's a second chance,
a second life for those who die in wombs,
we don't believe in that divine accountant
who, with one stroke, will set the balance straight:
we don't think there's a possibility
of justice or of reconciliation
in the spiritual world, and that is why
we should feel even stronger when it comes to
the right to live on Earth, because we know:
we only live once - that's if we live at all!

Surrounded by barbarians, the old
egalitarian still felt alone
in the young party’s multifarious fold
whose future no clairvoyant could have known.

Most of them were opposed to slavery,
but the majority hoped to deport
freed slaves to Africa and failed to see
equals whose liberties they shouldn’t thwart.

And even those who openly declared
them to be equal would discriminate
against minorities such as the scared
natives or the Chinese they came to hate.

But he was forced to join them to pursue
his aims, supporting California’s brat:
the greatest Indian butcher and the new
party’s first presidential candidate.

He had to work with those who’d persecute
one for one’s ancestry, for one’s belief,
one’s status or one’s race, like the astute
anti-Semitic general-in-chief.

With few exceptions people would deny
equality for some amidst his strife
and cherry-pick the ones who qualify
for civil rights and for the right to life.

Despite all obstacles the great unsung
hero achieved small triumphs on the way:
a true egalitarian among
barbarians, just like I am today.