We say a hurried prayer
To cover our multitude of sins,
It was time to listen to the Preacher,
He’d bless us and say all the right things
King James’ version,
“Blessed art thou”.
Deacons like Businessmen,
They sit behind the Podium
Smack their lips,
Flex well-cut suits
And perform Mathematical Miracles;
Division of congregational offertory:
Impeccably gowned and groomed,
The Choir sings;
With excess crescendos of Sopranos;
Congregation is inspired,
The Kingdom of God is to be desired.
Tone deaf children sing along,
Elderly citizens sing their own song,
The Choirmaster is pleased.
The pews are filled,
Saints-to-be, Saints, and Ex-Saints
Still dripping from baptismal waters,
The Pastor is pleased,
Just look at the size of their pockets.
The Youth is supercharged,
Holy Ghost fired,
Riding high on Drugs;
Long hairs, Crewcuts, and Skinheads,
Maxi, Mini, Micro skirts,
With wide eyes, a Boy catches a glimpse of a lady’s thighs
He keeps staring while singing,
“All Things Bright and Beautiful”
Where is the Early Church?
This is the End Time Church,
Heads buried in a Psychedelic world,
This is the Holy Church.
The Axis of Evil grows,
Destruction in apocalyptic dimension.
The Holy Church awaits the casualties.
*****18th December 2005****