in a land not so far away
people daily sit down and pray
for about an hour, to a higher power

many believe in the Flying Spaghetti Monster
His noodly appendages gracing the world
as goodness comes with each noodle unfurled

others call these people fools!
shouting "no way He's made of spaghetti!"
they think He's made of orecchiette

"spaghetti believers chant worthless cheers!
orecchiette is able to quell all fears
responding to prayers with His little ears"

as tension grows amongst both tribes
violence arises and peace subsides
each sect fights for nothing but pride

and up in the sky, the true Lord knells
She's British and made of Campanelle
staring sadly at the fighting, She loudly yells:

"you ****** lot are all goin' ta' hell!"

alone

your reputation
in this town

you are the quiet one
that will stay true

so you moved

to new people
a different world

ironic, it seems
old life on repeat

alone