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GBH
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The Prayer Of A Realist
There's no one up there, there never was
Only in vain is there a god
There's too much suffering for him to be
An almighty power, a heavenly being
My god, your god, whose god, there is no god ?
The fabric of prophet's ages old
Drones on and gathers mold
Gets a weekly airing from a fool on high
Who talks and talks till his throat's dry
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A fund for a roof with a hole
It's the money they'll save, not your soul
Persistent begging from men of the cloth
Refuse his offer and see his wrath
The weak ones kneel to him they pray
Oh Savior, come back someday
Sinning whilst waiting for a sign
I deny him, he's yours not mine
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