Religious zeal and explosive prowess make incendiary  bedfellows
searing calculating moralism where all fall short  and deserve to suffer
self righteous corrupted calumny  put forth in a sally of sectarian     selectivity  
your ilk is heading for Hell and I'm (already there) not

fanatical  zealots marginalize intellectuals  with their mythical mire of mucked up  claptrap and copious lack of a priori specificity
a glorified preposterous plethora of pompous  pontificating platitudes
the sins of others they deplore but of themselves they don't keep score
Sunday's best is Sunday's worst

you sanctimonious ******* just can't leave people alone
who elected you to point fingers anyway
Jesus was born in a barn to an unmarried woman
And your mommy got shtuped when you were conceived too
you don't walk on water you insolent impertinent  fool

the brain police can't wait for Sunday's
oh the satisfaction of a mutual admiration society
knee-**** hackneyed pavlovian dog speak
Is anything  anymore real if you jump around and shout about it
recipients of adulates get accustomed to sycophants
fawning complacent obsequious kiss ***** and Sunday ****-ups
pass the plate

She'll sleep tight in a parallel universe tonight
my deeply serious rainbow girl astral projects
communes with Shiva and champions chakras
she has the recipe for what passes as illumined
her ignorance of current events is  appalling
but that chosen ignorance is staid and unperturbed

I grumble and complain, I use the news like a ******
I put the pieces together, pattern the puzzle-
I see the BIG picture…I cut my life short
possessing a keen memory is like the proverbial millstone
the information is  the lake
rainbow girl is contemptuous of my self inflicted plight

we realize its a matter of time before disparate likes divide
I am fire and she is water, I the destroyer, she the preserver
the passion can be complimentary for just so long
Like the lady bard said:

You read those books where luxury
Comes as a guest to take a slave
Books where artists in noble poverty
Go like virgins to the grave  (Joni)

She'll tolerate my  confabulated artistry a spell
I can see she's a caterwauling  banshee of protestation in the waiting
Her mellifluous  quietude, equanimity  and perfect  poise can only last so long
Before my brash stripped down vituperative  diatribe is as acid in the eyes
Then be off to resume  her prior harmonic convergence of  heart  stuff
as I  with my artistic bent, abbreviate my life

*http://jonimitchell.com/music/song.cfm?id=38  The Boho Dance

So you think you are a master of techniques of persuasion?
You shallow pips-squeak, mediocrity is your mastery
the obsequious hoi polloi that surround you are the pitiable averageness of conciliation
Sophistry and subterfuge are your game of compromised facts
syllogistic  arithmetic conceptualizing  doesn't make anything so
your addition is flawed by your bungled bombast of banality and guile
fortunately for you, your crowd will never study logic
fortunately for you semi-literacy is  de rigueur

You pompous swollen grandiose mass of hyperbolic gas
Fear is what you offer, lies are what you sell
your rhetorical flourish is as the stench of a waste  dump
fetid, corpulent, fallow and febrile
toxic
half-truths, innuendos, ambiguities, conjecture and asinine aspersions comprise your specious fare,
fostering rumours,  manipulating facts, you are the purported Biblical brood of vipers so extensively reviled against
Your relevancy is attributable to the dull stupidity so profusely prevalent today
Your "success" is the stuff of taint and treachery
You'll probably choke to death on a stuck piece of poorly masticated  flesh
so appropriate  and  befitting the demise of a professional liar