Don’t tell us what to do

Or invite us to tell you our sins.

We’ll do what feels right,

You can keep your chagrin.

And your morals and standards,

Your sermons on telos and ends –

To first things and last things

We feel no urge to bend.

We’ll give God the suffering,

The rest we pulled ourselves through;

and the Priests can stand trial

For all that God didn’t do.

But at the end of our lives,

When we’re weak, and we’re small,

We – the gods of our own lives! –

Well, we can’t do much after all.

The first things and last things

Come back to haunt our dreams,

And we grasp at the priests’ hems,

Whispering please…