People talk a lot
About belief and faith
As if they are one,
As if they are the same
And so the godless
Throw stones and blame
From reason’s ivory tower
Heartless, lifeless, stale.
This all just deflects
From what is really at stake
The quivering raw depths
That mourn, that ache.

Everything’s become
A matter of truth
The height of a mountain,
The nature of abuse
Every joy every strain
That completes the human life
Are just chemicals at play
In brains under a knife

And so we give our artists drugs
In order to defuse
The feelings festering like bugs
The echoes of the Muse
We call the pious delusional
As we ply the wares
That the big-man chemists sell
To dull our golden hair

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