He offered words to the birds
because their coos were too crooning.
He offered the knife and fork a small spork
because the spoons, they kept spooning
and through it all, the world,
it keeps moving;
as somebody wins somebody’s bruising.
Bruised cheek, last week,
she can not talk, she can not speak.
Black eye, don’t know why,
the only break she gets on sheets.
Get her breath back, count to ten
then it’s time to fuck again.
Aint got no love, aint got no friends,
got no Mother, it’s men, men, men.
And where is he as spoons do spoon
and little black birds groove and croon?
Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay,
my oh my, is the world starting to pay.
Plenty of sunshine, boiled grass looks like hay
no food to eat now, so let’s pray for rain.
And the black’s don’t have souls until ’76,
and the towers, they crumble, like fallen twix.
Have a break, have a kit kat as you kill the world
and the rainforest dwindles, palm oil is like pearls.
The world is our oyster and we suck it dry
and get more fat on our backs from eating food fried.
As we get fat arses and doubled double chins
we chuck it all in one bag, fuck recycling bins.
He offers words to the birds
and a buzz for the bees
but where are the crutches
for that whore on her knees.
People get trafficked
and there are millions missing,
for Him to find them
would be like going fishing.
He sits with a line
that is hooked and the sunk
in this Hades realm of lost souls
that are drugged up or drunk.
They can’t grab His line
because it’s not even there,
invisible and hidden
they think nobody cares.
To bite onto His bait
would be like a mouth full of cock
and these poor little choir boys
are sick of having that shock.
Whose to blame for these paedophiles
that can run amock
and throw women in prisons
and keep them locked up?
It’s the Jews,
it’s the gays,
it’s anyone but themselves.
What does He think when he sees this?
Religions in bad health.
In fact it is dying, critical, comatose.
It’s been dying since Chaucer
with the priest whose nose grows.
Not literal, but cynical,
they are all lying c*nts.
Anything to get money,
they pull stupid stunts
like saying “to get into Heaven
you must pay your way.
There’s an entrance fee on the door
or down you go with the gays.”
I’m sick of this fear
and I’m sick of their lies,
Catholicism and cynicism
hold hands in the night.
Do you think that priest prays for your soul
as he counts up those riches?
Does he fuck! He’s a pimp,
and you’re all his bitches.
So Zip-a-dee-doo-dah,
zip-a-dee-fucking-day,
let’s pay the bigots
and let’s hang the gays.
Let’s say Jews killed Jew Jesus
and the Roman’s saved the day,
let’s say the Holocaust never happened
and in a holiday camp they stayed.
“Yeah, they’re a bit skinny,
but that’s just their race.
Too fucking tight to buy food
and put it on plates.”
And that’s what sticks in my throat
and makes me choke,
that these issues of seriousness
are a big fucking joke.
And the people that matter,
the victims,
the dead,
they are forgotten and scorned
and put in their beds.
Shooed like a child
with wild thoughts and nightmares;
“Darling, Auschwitz never existed
now get up those stairs.”
How can our children
learn empathy and love
if we won’t learn from our mistakes?
Instead we are innocent, Gov.
We can’t teach children the past
if it is emotive and sad
but we let them play violent computer games
and question behaviour bad.
And what does He think
when He sees the ghosts of the dead
who lost their lives for nothing
and for Him they were led.
Does He feel guilty
as he croons with the birds
when for those lost and missing
He can’t give them the words,
or the chance to jump out and escape
like a Jack in the box?
Instead they are winded back in again
and the door is then locked.
To Him I do ask,
do we learn and get better?
Or do we keep repeating
the same mistakes forever?
I listen, no answer,
what do I expect?
I’m just a fish in the water,
hungry and vexed.
Swimming for answers
and diving for truths
but these truths are old
and so is this news.
“Zip-a-dee-doo-dah”
God softly croons
as the birds twitter and tweet
and the poppy’s do bloom.
One day we’ll get answers,
maybe one day soon
but for now the birds sing
and the whores sit alone in their rooms.
