My life before my eyes saw you
Was dark and empty and like a dying coal
My heart was hard and burdened with rue
My blood was cold from my dying soul
I had my things and friends 'tis true
But the happiness from stuff grows old
From whence happiness came I never knew
The only thing I felt was the creeping cold
Joy seemed to me as like a bird, in it came and out it flew
"Things always get better" I was told
But it seemed that to happiness was an everlasting queue
Some said to take a risk and risk being bold
Was all it took, as well as risking my life too
But I cringed and tried to hide in gold
Surely happiness From wealth was due?
Then I felt myself squeezed into a mould
And that was when my eyes saw you.

I need to talk about the God Gang.
Some of y’all think it is a good thang.
Well, I am here to tell you it is not.
It’s like the mullet when it was hot.
It’s all about what the majority agrees;
They do it without checking with me.
When it is in, people don’t see it’s bad
But it’s different when it’s a passe’ fad.

I was raised in the Bible Belt Buckle
And I had plenty of rapped knuckles.
I got berated when I would cough
And no way could I ever beat off.
I had to say I believed in Jesus Christ
If not I paid a heavy social price.
I was called some pretty ugly names
And I know the God Gang was to blame.

If you’re young and want to get laid
There is a horrific price to be paid.
You lie and pretend if you’re an atheist
That the other person’s God does exist,
And is the answer to every question.
Do it to get along is my suggestion.
Otherwise you will be called a heathen
As if the God Gang really was believing.

And it goes on to include everything.
Almost like the National Anthem thing.
Before every game, it was the same
Someone stood, invoked a holy name.
At trials on the Bible, I was forced to swear.
I wasn’t a Christian, but they didn’t care.
In a country called The Land Of The free
Actions proved they did not include me.

And political gatherings for which we pay
The God Gang manages to hold sway.
They call on God and even do a prayer
As if God was in the room somewhere
And the politicians didn’t want to offend.
When will this official superstition stuff end?
Someone needs to invent something great
Like an idea of separating church and state.

I want to be rich
I want to have power
I want my every thought
To blossom and flower
Into a new religion
Like a room full of roses.
I want to become
A brand new Moses.

I would write such tales
Of exciting breadth and scope
That any non-believer would
Have to be a brainless dope.
I would invent angels, too
That appear to save us all
And appear and offer words
That back up the worship call.

I will find someplace
Where I could build a church;
Leave all the naysayers
In a theological lurch.
I want to write new rules
Maybe on tablets of gold
And peddle my concept
Until thousands are sold.

Then we can get stronger
And create our own thing
Where hand chosen leaders
Can carry on like kings.
Once they are chosen
Their persons will be sacred.
They will have God’s mandate,
So no human can take it.

Of course we’ll do good things
Like a religion really should.
We’ll do charity and preaching
And do a great amount of good.
But what is most important
And will really make us great
Is to teach our people clearly
Just who they have to hate.

If we don’t approve of them
Heaven will simply be denied;
Just like the Court of Gentiles.
They’ll have to stay outside.
Because I want a religion
Where what I say will be fact
And all of the true believers
Will know exactly how to act.

I was raised on ridicule
Scorn and blaming.
Belittling laughter
Jokes and shaming.
Though nobody who knew
Seems to doubt it
They sure as hell wish I
Would shut up about it.

That’s just the way it is today.
Abused children, it seems
Upset people; therefore they
Are best not heard, just seen.

Four Eyes, Toothpick and Brat
These are a few of the names.
You might as well call them freaks
And creeps. It amounts to the same.
Screwup, ******, fumblefingers,
Bones, Spazz and Stumblebum.
Pantywaist, wussy, ditz and then
Plenty more where those came from.

From birth to death it seems
Sometimes, throughout all of life
Some people just don’t care
That scorn can cut like a knife.

It makes people question
Every move they might make
When somebody keeps on
Calling them things like flake.
The condemnation and rebuke
Aren’t covered up by the laughter.
People should question deeply
The effect they think they are after.

So cut the kids a break
It won’t turn out wrong
And the ridicule of a child
Can last their whole life long.