The baseball season must go on
It would not do to skip a game
The NBA champs must bounce their balls
And wrestlers take their practiced falls.
4000 souls will breathe their last
In mothers’ wombs imprisoned
Torn to bits and packed as waste
By doctors who get paid for haste.
One or two will vigil keep
Outside the mill on Murder Street
For human life, eternal souls
Whose blood is in abortion bowls.
While tens of thousands cheer and roar
Who will never block an abortion door
They line up before dawn for tickets rare
But as for life, they do not care.