The sky is dead
with the rides demise
The lights quieted
the grinding gears
blacked out, lost
to the memory of fun
shades of joy flaunt
the eternal ride,
adrift here
the saints ride
the zipper
the crack neck pains
of the turns.
Jesus, in all his commie
beauty tells all to treat
so well themselves and everyone else
from the ticket booth
but we do not listen.
His Dad hates him,
the Father,
so Jesus ran here
to the dead silence
of the catholic Circus.
Lights, bells, action
and god is righteous
he cannot lose.
Fun, money lost, games
and god is accepting
and all knowing; omnipotent.
Jesus ran here to escape
the lies, wretched cur
but only found more.