At Your Church

At Your Church
By Brian Looney

I was there this sunny Sabbath
For the first time in a year.

I didn't go because I needed faith.
I went because I needed a laugh.

For the strong don't need faith.
The strong can always use a good laugh, though,
Because it's hard to be strong.

You probably don't know what I mean.

No matter.

Anyways, I was there.

They had a live band
Pu'raising the Lawd fer Vic'try.
People put their hands in the air
And squeezed their eyes shut.
Others sung along
In the spirit of holy hypocrisy.

Everybody was worshipping the intolerant Baby Killer

Found incarnate in the fascist spirit.

Like post-war Nazis who still have faith in Hitler.

They told me to rinse and repeat
But I refused.

I wouldn't make an offer
And I passed the brass dish.

They tried to plaster me with guilt,

Tried to hammer my head with rusty nails.

They sought to infect me with Lockjaw.

But I'm immune.

The savages starved me

And then ordered me to eat and drink
But I told them I was no cannibal.

Even if it was "shed for me"
I still wouldn't touch it.

Well, I did quaff their cheap wine
But it didn't get me drunk like I'd hoped.

The morsel I palmed like a skilled magician.

When nobody was looking,
I threw it on the ground
And stomped with my heel.

I wonder which of the pious will eat it?
After all, it was shed for them.