Safeguarded against the most retched Forked Tongue with seeds that will sprout out facetious truths of yarn, breeding limited access to the sweet bosom of Hers Truly.
What kind of life is that to squeeze from the fruit given from the tree?
If God were one of us,
would She acknowledge me?
Would She let me in? Be my friend?
Or would I have to cut off my fins and drown in
a heavenly blue pressure cooker?
They say She doesn’t care what you wear or how you comb your hair
Tell you any different, they wouldn’t dare
Are you merry? Are you Here? Are you There?
That’s really all that matters
bless this crusade, strawberry lemonade
Take breaks away from the manmade
you’ve got it made