Lyrics The Prayer of a Realist - G.B.H.

The Prayer of a Realist

There’s no one up there there never was
Only in vain is there a god
There’s too much suffering for him to be.
An almighty power, a heavenly being
My god, your god, whose god, there is no god?
The fabric of prophet’s ages old
Drones on and gathers mould
Gets a weekly airing from a fool on high
Who talks and talks till his throat’s dry
A fund for a roof with a hole
It’s the money they’ll save not your soul
Persistant begging from men of the cloth
Refuse his offer and see his wrath
The weak ones kneel to him they pray
«Oh saviour come back someday»
Sinning whilst waiting for a sign
I deny him he’s yours not mine