They speak of God in the forum,
self-proclaimed prophets yell
of the different color fires waiting
to consume this weary body.

What, though, can they teach me of hell
when my head is a dance hall for demons.
I know too much of your God,
I can promise that he is not mine.

For my God rejoices not in the simple
smell of brimstone and smoke,
but rather in the full moon smile
on to be lovers faces.

My God does not believe in your hell.
My God is the god of the broken hearted,
of the fools, of those who always go too far.
My God is a loving god.

So keep your vengeful God,
keep your hate-filled prayers,
keep your Pharisees,
and I will keep mine.