Is truly a trickster and a fraud
Hoping to snare some simpering sod.
Or, perhaps, convince an aching clod
Whose ego needs but a tiny prod
To believe there's nobility in every plod
Because this proves he is greater than cod
Whose design, unlike his, is inherently flawed.
Now he knows upon whom to laud
The praises for things which have left him awed.
Then all at once his life is now lawed
So he rails against the Marquis de Sade
And those whose moral footing he thinks poorly shod
Not just here, but also abroad.
He cares not upon what freedoms he'll trod
For he finds the notion amusingly odd.
He thinks rights without heaven are just a façade,
Though his definitions are sufficiently broad
To allow his kind, with a wink and a nod,
To march against "tyrannies" which they claim maraud
Their right and their duty to ensure a bawd
Or a person whose privates are too often pawed
Or the collective misdeeds of the immorality squad
(A killer, a liberal: two peas in a pod!)
Receive the punition of the Almighty's rod.
And the day the last iceberg has thawed
The last tree has died and the last crow has cawed,
When the entire planet's been run over roughshod
The flock of the faithful will madly applaud
What they perceive as the triumph of God.
Music For Your Ears To Taste: "Intro" by Sleep
~S-B
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