They whistle tunes of Everlasting Life
and, dumb as fish, you rise and seize the fly:
They broker lies to make you bear all strife,
bow down to earthly monarchs ’til you die.
Dear spineless pleb, of atoms you are made –
scant bits of matter and extensive space –
and death is no more fearsome than a shade –
the shadow-side of Life’s astounding grace.
The Here and Now is what is on my mind
an Eden of great peace – just out of reach –
an end to laws that cut and choke and bind
a place where no one censors freedom’s speech.
They’ve tricked you with religion’s greatest con:
This gilt-edged theft goes on and on and on.
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The Classical Deinhardt 