Wwjd
You're my miniature Messiah,
You're my temporary saint.
You naively think you own me
And have a right to voice complaint.
You tell me I'm the sinner,
And chastise the things I do.
But to demonise the blood of Christ
Is surely sinning too.
So I ask you psuedo-saviour,
What on Earth would Jesus do,
If he looked down on your life
And started scrutinising you?
So judge me, scorn me, look down on me,
And I think you will find:
A sober heart is often spoken
Through a drunken mind.
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