Way Back When I Was Ten
It was a cold night, and I hated it,
The church service all in rows,
I contemplated my throat to slit,
But decided not, for my throws.
Dick Saunders was from Sussex,
The British Billy Graham no less,
And if I ever thought of pop or sex,
I’d be scolded and given a caress.
He was holding ten Jesus meetings,
In the Meadows of Edinburgh, a park,
Every night for then and strong feelings,
Were inspired among the church stark.
It was for the people of Edinburgh,
To be told about Jesus and his way,
Called The Way To Life Crusade, ah,
It was so archaic, had Noah’s sway.
I’m disabled so spasm and suffered,
Every Sunday from CP fits, seizures,
From being all tensed up, buffered,
By difficult breathing for hours.
So I knew I couldn’t go to these,
Fundamentalist meetings for so long:
Sequential, asphyxiating with cheese,
Not my choice at all for life song.
But mum and dad insisted I went,
‘Cos he was the leader of the choir,
And mum challenged me each night,
For my decision making time, hour.
So one night I gave in and did submit,
Went along with the whole thing as true,
But I always knew that my spasms, fit,
Caused the acceptance rank and blue.
I had asked my parents courageously, bold,
For a carer for me to stay home from church,
Because I knew that medically I did hold,
But they cleanly just left me in the lurch.
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