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.