When I turned to god as a little kid,
I clasped my hands and made a bid
to tell of everything I might
and got it out as quick as light.
But then when mum and dad would ask
down which road my life had passed
and how I felt about tomorrow,
hardly had I chance to sorrow
when out would come advice and order
—worrisome parental fodder.
I sensed they truly loved and cared
but talked too much and weren’t aware
of how the god I prayed to listened.
So modest was this god’s volition;
in fact, it almost seems absurd
but god, I think, said not one word.
And yet I felt so understood;
god was chill and, if I could,
god would let me talk all night
but generally I kept it tight.
Go find a place where you can pray
to those who’ve lately passed away.
The same holds true and to no-end:
they listen more than any friend.
Perhaps, then, it was god who said
that god’s not here, that god is dead;
and whether god is here or not
the therapy is pretty hot.
