Hymn corrected

God creates equal,
that is what i last heard.
The world dead in its sequel;
Le colt you sick bastard.
Catalyzing intimidation the world mastered.
Inclination with pop music we plastered.
Broken orphans stand on the horizon;
Senate seats only the guilty wizen.

Prickly red Afro, all wet and grim,
his abhor once raw now ripen.
The space within his face with vex to brim;
his love now tastes of poison.

Taller than tower of Paris,
she whispers a hymn politically corrected.
Swaying as the sand gently caress,
she maims this empire resurrected.
The hymn, in time, will get interrupted;
For this organized system itself is corrupted.
Across the globe, nothing ever does vary;
Lone men, on missions, with them hate they carry.