This is a Shakespearean tale about Dr. Macbeth,
A wealthy abortionist who knows all about death;
He deigns to call the little ones “fetal tissue,”
Since for him it’s no more than a PC issue.
Have mercy, for his life is so tragical and so sad,
Forgive him, Father: he doesn’t know that it’s bad.
He slaughters the babes as if they were pigs,
No problem, for they’re as soft as small figs;
His tongs crush their skulls like an egg’s brittle shell,
As demons cheer and laugh in the black heart of hell.
Have mercy, for his life is so tragical and so sad,
Forgive him, Father: he doesn’t know that it’s bad.
When he fails, he just lops off the kid’s head,
A simple way to make sure that he’s dead;
Then, he stealthily sells the babies’ body parts,
For he earns good dough from lungs and hearts.
Dear Father, please make him a new creation,
Forgive him, that he may find your salvation.
Dr. Macbeth, we might say, doth murder sleep,
Because he holds unborn life so very cheap;
Beware! For fair is now foul, and foul is fair,
But does Dr. Macbeth really care?
Dear Father, please make him a new creation,
Forgive him, that he may find your salvation.