I think the patron saints have all been left for dead.
The lies have all been said,
and payments been arranged.

The depositions all went down behind the scenes.
The clergy spilled the beans,
but somehow the guilty never found

Have you heard of Jesus?
He was very wise,
now he lives up in the sky.

sing along, sing in spite of all the pain
sing in spite of all of the pain

Children start out in the world so full of dreams.
Then come the philistines,
who run those dreams into the ground.

Yes, it’s been confirmed, the patron saints are dead.
The church is in the red,
and we are all concerned.

I can imagine Jesus,
with a mighty spell,
sending all those guys to hell.

sing along, sing in spite of all the pain,
sing in spite of all of the pain.

The sordid stories that were hidden from us all,
except those on bathroom stalls,
which turned out to be the facts.

Children start out in the world so full of trust,
their faith was easily crushed,
and now we’re filled with a righteous rage.

Now we’re living in a new enlightened age -
sure that we can be the change.
Can we live like Jesus?
Can we avoid lies - can we be compassionate and wise?

sing along, sing in spite of all the pain
sing in spite of all of the pain

Reverend 

lichen
careful man, hey
you

yes, you!
with the suit
and the beanie hat-
folded hands
hands bathed in contradiction

let those grinning demons in!
our crowded hearts echo of repent

each ringing in your hollows
Q-tip squeaky clean..

O, Reverend
Mend me! 
teach me
how to take and take and take,

and still look upon this turning world with empty eyes
Like no lives are at stake! 
Like we are actually brave
Like we are really awake

As if all is only
left or right
black or white
day until night
lines then spaces
words only prayer
worlds
built upon prayer

never can one do harm without intent

never would a holy man
two hands
sewn by God— 

you must be remembering wrong.

Come and let me tell you
Tales of distant wizards
In far off foreign lands.
The speak in words of poetry
And magic incantations
Even they don’t understand.

They tell of arcane stories
Of dragons and the caves
Of gemstones where they hid.
They tell of verve and derring-do
And swashbuckling heroism
In legendary acts they never did.

They chant, these ancient shamans
To deities and gods of ancient name
Who they know well are fakers.
They foretell and portend wonders
And riches for those who rule, and
Call themselves movers and shakers.

These magic-minded soothsayers
Drape themselves in auras of mystery
And tell the believers they can heal.
And if the congregation fails to look
Closely enough at their performances
They believe the mythological is real.

And time can coat the stores in paint
That looks like the patina of the ages
So it passes the inspection of he willing.
No true believer looks for cracks
In the walls around the real facts
Or questions the truth they are killing.

Unload your vetted earnings
    in the collection baskets,
small price to pay 
    for holy water's kickback,
God thundered an indignant snort
    'pon gold filled prospered coffers      
within corporate excesses                 
   of enriched gaudy churches
wondering when HIS word
  had begotten misconstrued
     in clergy's interpretations
      of powers' self-aggrandizement
       and pontificating gratification;

whilst the huddled masses
    were starving midst the pews

The hollow I am, habit, cowl of the sky, hand
Of the holy, mouth of the most high witnessed all
The bloodshed of the children He should love. A bullet
To the infidel set to flight, bore the dove. I
Don’t know what it was that inside me died, at the
Sermon in the woods, they were preaching in the dirt
It was faith in silence made the good man convert.

Bore the holy cross, they would bear the holy sword
Those defamers of His name, smoking sacred an
Offer to Adonai, the poor lamb they had lamed.
Christ wept, held his face littered by the holy man
‘Till he disappeared from vision became just an
Ordinary man, to walk in the valley of death.
I took from my shoulders the weight of debts past on.

Centeries’ share of ghosts of the ****** lived and died
Like this iconoclast and I blazed on that path,
Now penitent for everyman for all the love
That he may bring is surely shame to everything,
And to all by it abide. I shall revere no
Holy man nor the love he cast aside nor He
Who allowed the righteous to bear His name in vain.