Mass-Panic

Herd-mongers, schoolmarms and glorious twats Piloting leased arks through drenched parking lots Cadillacs cleansed of a fine week’s debris Just in time for the polish of sanctimony A river of swine, like the Jordan, it crosses Over deserts of disheartened workers and bosses The fracas of worshippers, beanied and veiled – In the Third World, could pass for a fish market sale There are loaves, there are nets – there’s nothing to eat There’s so little legroom; there are beads on my seat! There’s a mountain of missals, there’s a tower of babblers And a nice hidden room for perpetual hagglers There’s prime VIP seating, a great view of a tomb Completely adjacent to the activities room There’s most anything anyone could need or want, So long as it comes from a baptismal font When in walks a figure, so stiff and ordained, You know in a moment he must be a saint He’ll heal a few cripples, a Lazarus or two And distribute those wafers that keep us renewed Then we offer up thanks to some white-beard in the ether With all of the joy of a rheumatic fever And spill from the pews, lemmings on marble tile And back onto the ark for brunches-du-style ‘cause the deluge has cornered-down many a mile And sacrificed many a kind word and smile Tolerance chiseled, evolution defiled – Maybe let’s keep its hooks off the last decent child Tolerance chiseled, evolution defiled – Maybe let’s keep its hooks off the last decent child.