| Let’s retire to our knees
|
| With our books as our gracious
|
| And kindly machines
|
| Of concern take our places
|
| Grow motorized trees
|
| Build robotic faces
|
| Who smile on command
|
| Who can mind their own business
|
| We’ll hold human hands
|
| And rest human feet
|
| In the Chapelcross Towns
|
| Of the battle-scarred mornings
|
| Fake leaves rustling sounds
|
| Lay rattlesnake warnings
|
| From our homes underground
|
| You can still hear them moaning
|
| Don’t cheat on your taxes
|
| But as for your spouses
|
| Dark secrets come out
|
| With comma or without
|
| When the tired young knees
|
| Of your father walked out
|
| To the lord I disbelieve
|
| But increase thou my doubt
|
| He sat down in the leaflessness
|
| A thousand more times
|
| I went back on my word
|
| But I won’t go back this time
|
| Neither bondsman nor free
|
| But a newspaper salesmen
|
| Who moves about words
|
| (e.g. «death do us part»)
|
| If our prayers are unheard
|
| Well, our prayers are unheard
|
| And what there shall we yield
|
| In our own poor devotions?
|
| That pearl from the field
|
| Cast back home to the ocean
|
| Would you cast out my fears
|
| Or at least fix some tea
|
| In our cabbage white kingdoms
|
| Of kings of no history
|
| You can pack up your things
|
| I would still wear your ring |