Sunday Morning Robots

The words they never told you Would surely burn and scold you They hold you and they mold you like a vase It’s become to me bemusing The Sunday child-abusing Refusing any choosing to think clear Your comfortable delusion Keeps you safe from all intrusion Though your delusion’s sad conclusion comes with truth For all the things you keep believing And the lies you’re still receiving Never leaving still deceiving till you’re blind Your parents and your preachers And all the other leeches From far and wide and far out reaches All who claim to be your teachers Mold you, delude you, deceive you, blind you, abuse you Till the preachers and the leeches rule your mind