|
Though we later may walk |
|
In a valley in a shadow of death |
|
What should we logically fear? |
|
Perhaps the complacent urge for a deity |
|
To make us whole and guide us through |
|
To fulfil an image that is cloudy at best |
|
Where was the help previously |
|
When appeals went unheard? |
|
Huge effort expended on devotion |
|
For nothing in return |
|
Grimly clinging, predetermined |
|
To prop up an image that is cloudy at best |
|
Resigned rigid, predetermined |
|
To covet a vision that is forced on the rest |
|
Life becomes an exercise in cutting down your options |
|
Existing becomes a joyless parade to the end |
|
Life becomes a platform from which to attack free thought |
|
Existing becomes a prison where self-discovery's forbidden |
|
The fatalist |
|
Any fool starting afresh would surely ditch this |
|
After two-thousand years of schism |
|
Only irreligious hearts can do the saving |
