hey, faith, run me down
electric, illuminated crosses
don't wire me like they used to
we investigate the point of prayer
and whether it works
poison wishes drift on dreams
and tears like acid rain
wither the green and wood
loving lords instill
we can look to airy monarchy
when no flesh will hear our pleas
and use them as we wish
This image we worship
is nothing but opulent fantasy
a scapegoat for disastrous imperfection
someone to blame
and a mighty "it" to dissolve our sorrow
so bow to whatever fictional,
malevolent god created
temptation.