Never-ending bliss With nothing to miss;
Ever-lasting war With no end or par.
The choice is made quick Twixt stasis and wick,
Between godly just And impending rust.
Ideologies Need apologies
That outlast battle's Fugacious rattles.
The stick's necessary From Rome to Paris
But Eden's carrots Are worth more carats
In the simple eyes Of the man who dies
In each fief and hearth Of that wretched Earth
To replace a faith That makes him a wraith
Unless he passes Covered in axes.
Pan's advertising Sells more, casts more zing
Than Valhalla will Ever to the ill,
And the Holy Church Knew well to make merch
Of ancient fests With its brand and breasts
To tempt all alike Into its swell Reich.
Televangelists Are the analysts
Of God's market plans; They manage His fans.
The atheist bunch Has not one sound hunch:
You need never prove; Only self-improve
To get your ticket To the great thicket
Above, in the sky, And remain there high
With nothing to patch: No strings and no catch.
Just show your dollars To Yahweh's scholars
And your paradise Awaits, at their price.
As today, Bacchus, Jesus is business.