Come, come, Ex-Saints, no spoiled old fables here:
Stick with God, he’s the way,
Though hard to you the end of life appears,
Close your eyes, let us pray.

'Tis better far if Christ’s alive,
The fear of death from us to drive;
Do this and buy what churches sell:
All is well! All is well!

Why should we mourn or try to think too hard?
Tis not so; too uptight,
Why dare to think that science has it right?
Lookie there--Tunnel of Light!

Gird up your loins and just have faith,
Our God belief we cannot shake;
And soon we'll chant new magic spells--
All is well! All is well!

We'll find a place where from the facts we're spared,
Far away, in our breast.
Where they can't come to hurt or make afraid;
In our bliss, no science test.

We’ll make believe for Christ our King,
Shout praises to our new-found thing.
Above the rest these tales we'll tell--
Heaven's real! (so is Hell!)

And when we die, when all our fears come true,
That’s the end.
Darn, oh, well . . .
We then are dead, with all the rest we’re through,
In the dirt we shall dwell.

But when our lives are ended then,
To hell with those who told us when
That when we croak, we’ll rot and smell–
No, we won’t! All is well!



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 10/16/2017 12:50AM by steve benson.