People -- what have you done -- locked Him in His golden cage. Made Him bend to your religion -- Him resurrected from the grave. He is the god of nothing -- if that's all that you can see. You are the god of everything -- He's inside you and me. So lean upon Him gently and don't call on Him to save you from your social graces and the sins you used to waive. The bloody Church of England -- in chains of history -- requests your earthly presence at the vicarage for tea. And the graven image you-know-who -- with His plastic crucifix -- he's got him fixed -- confuses me as to who and where and why -- as to how he gets his kicks. Confessing to the endless sin -- the endless whining sounds. You'll be praying till next Thursday to all the gods that you can count.
