Every now and then I wonder why
our God should be found under
steeples made of stone and mortar
heedless of our sad despair
It seems to me He should awaken
In the hearts of those forsaken
(and by the way this condemnation
seems to be a bit unfair)

It wasn't I who in the garden ate the
fruit and begged His pardon
Bringing forth such pain and sorrow
to this world so long ago
I think it simply far from normal
that a God who stands on formal
etiquette and rules of order should
forgiveness not bestow

A God so fond of preaching mercy
Through each member of His clergy
Every Sunday without fail should
perhaps His own words heed
For if this world and all its sorrow
Is to see a bright tomorrow
Then we must create a garden
where no child or Savior bleeds