Monday, 29 January 2007


I shaved my faith with Occam’s razor,

Read the book but found no savior,

Weighed the words and found them light,

No sleep will come to me this night.

Without belief what hope remains,

To wash away the guilty stains

Of all the sins that I have sown,

No blameless left to cast the stone.

A world of virtue slips away,

With severed ties to yesterday,

A world of pain descends through sorrow,

The downward slope towards tomorrow.

And as hard money takes it’s place

As the new-found god of a fearful race,

With folded notes will prayers begin?

Will guilty payments cleanse of sin?

Redemption at cost or with failure to hell,

The meaning of life is how well does it sell?

The rich man advances the more that he buys,

And pays to make needles with camel shaped eyes.

The highest respect paid to hoarders of money,

The punchline is truth and the joke is not funny,

A paraphrased line from a song often sold,

Come meet the new god, same as the old.

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