I worry for a creature
One that calls itself wise
That needs to believe
Some ancient pack of lies
About timeless people,
Gods that can never die,
Though they are preposterous,
They fail to ask why.

I worry for a people who
In an age that conquers disease
Where we can educate ourselves
To do almost whatever we please;
Can turn night into the day
And speak across the many miles
Still chant their superstitious tales
About magic arts all the while.

It seems they are trained monkeys
Who push buttons for rewards
When spiritual independence
Could be their permanent award.
They thank the wrong saviors
For pulling us out of the slime
That has punished our people
Back since ancient times.

It was not ritual witchery
That gave our people freedom.
Instead it was seeing clearly,
Analysis, research and wisdom.
No blathering high priestess
With winged dragons to fight
Brought us medical cures, or
Radio and electric light.