Psalm 137

We slumped down
And let our tears run free
There by the Babylonian canals.
We couldn’t get the ruin of Zion
Out of our minds.

We leaned our guitars against the trunk
Of a weeping willow,
Refusing to play them.
For our captors teased and taunted,
Demanding we play our favorite praise songs,
Smirks on their faces.
“Hey, you!
Sing us one of your Zion songs.”

How could we?
How can Yahweh songs be sung
In a land that hates him?

Oh sweet Jerusalem!
If I ever forget you,
May I forget how to play music.
May I never sing again,
Forgetting how to move my tongue
If I ever forget you.
Oh sweet Jerusalem,
You are the only place on earth
Where I am truly happy.

Don’t ever forget, Yahweh,
How those Edomites betrayed us
The day Jerusalem was sacked.
“Bomb it to hell!” they shouted.
“Bulldoze every building
Till nothing remains.”

And you, little girls growing up in Babylon,
Beware!
Doom is descending!
I offer my best blessing
To anyone who hurts you
Like you’ve hurt us.
I offer my best blessing
To anyone who grabs your babies
And smashes them to bloody pulp
On the rocks.