Chuck Brodsky Our Gods
We worship our gods - we buy souvenirs
Admire our trinkets - in front of our mirrors
A hat with a cross - a shirt with a star
The names of our teams - tattooed on our arms
We're given our gods at the moment of birth
The gods of our fathers- all others be cursed
At the earliest age - we memorize verse
The gospel - as it is written
We swear at our gods - curse our rotten luck
From the side of the road - when we self-destruct
We ask them to save us - to get us unstuck
From the muck we get ourselves into
Temples of stained glass - hand cut stones
We build for our gods - such magnificent homes
We visit sometimes - but we don't stay long
Not when the football games are on
We make deals with our gods - to win back what we've lost
In our pants pockets - our fingers are crossed
Lord, give us this day - make these prosperous times
Help us - to cover our crimes
We go to the seers - say, “Show us the script
That our gods have left for us - stashed in some crypt”
“Ah, secrets,” they say - “what has never been told...
Yours...for a pile of your gold”
We kill for our gods - we wage holy wars
Assassinate presidents - burn down bookstores
Massacre children to - settle old scores
Yelling, “Our gods are great!”
Our gods must be proud - of the blood on our hands
And the way we go conquering - far away lands
In the names of our gods - may the glory be theirs
Let the spoils & the plunders be ours
We serve our gods - in such humorless ways
Rituals we do - laws we obey
Sometimes in between we pray
But how often do we say “I love you?”
