Without faith and with shoes on, I walk across time.
Half way past holy bullshit, I always find more.
From the fake polls that tell me that Clinton should win
To the priests who spunk little boys (Ain’t that a sin?),
I know faith is a mystery dressed as a whore.
It’s complexity makes for a rich paradigm.
I can take what seems solid and firm to the touch
As mere referral points that in time will dissolve
Into nothingness, just like the space in-between
All particulate substances that can’t be seen.
God has given each soul its own puzzle to solve.
As for seeking consensus – it doesn’t mean much.
Yet, it means much to those who would have me believe
There’s a God who’s outside me who’s bigger than mine.
We are followers. That’s why we’re tended like sheep.
We are strung out for someone’s commandments to keep.
Any fool with a message will suit the world fine.
Faith is oft’ an elixir to numb the naïve.