An English Sunday
king james with a lantern on a hill tells
of loose ribbons in ornate fancy hats
and all prayers turn common when
manchester united plays chelsea.
now gods holy plasma screens burn
brightly on old tarnished brick walls,
uplifted by cherubim and cigar smoke.
while all the dart boards across the bar
are decorated in their finest greens and
reds like scottish noblemen.
everthing is as it should be,
after all it is sunday and
god is an englishmen right?
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