The Bastards' Tale

Have you ever wondered

The gods you kneel and pray to

The gods you call the omnipresent invincibles

What are they really

If not a bunch of self-obsessed narcissistic megalomaniacs

Who you claim are immortals

All powerful and all forgiving

Why do they keep feeding off the faiths and beliefs of mere mortals

The mere mortals who provide for these apparent immortals

And yet, are nothing but meandering puppets to the wishes of their god's flaws

Why is it that

Your gods look like everything you've ever wanted to be but never could be

And yet they look up to your lesser selves like a clueless infant to a watchful parent

When did immortality become so fragile?

For I know crawling mortals without a spine

Who could outlive nuclear bombs and raging wars

But your gods with their spines of religion can't even outlive questions

Your definitions of godliness look like make-believe stories of a fucking lunatic

How is it that

Your gods have colours in pastel shades from a child's crayons

And yet, the audacity of someone who could upturn worlds

For thousands and thousands of years

The mere mortals have killed each other and spilled blood like wine off a cannibal's chalice

And while the whole of humanity danced butt-naked in the mayhem and chaos they called religion

The so called immortals have sat back and watched it all with a grinning smile like wasted stoners watching a dogfight

An all forgiving God and yet all it reminds of, is nothing more than a god-damned parasite, thirsty for some blood and some more

But the mere mortals who made gods of Frankenstein's monsters

And worshipped them in blind faith

Their eyes scraped off their sockets and served as offerings of belief

Their brains splattered across the plastered walls of temples and mosques and churches

Those invertebrate shitheads who needed to cling on to faith because that was all they had

Because accountability, you see comes at a heavy price

It often costs you your larger-than-thou ego, and accept that you're a fucking mess

It takes you to acknowledge your vulnerability that you know little or nothing of anything out there

It needs you to be okay being lost, in an attempt to figure yourself out in this life of randoms and uncertainties

But then, religion is so much easier, so much more convenient

And so, the faithful bastards of the faithless gods sing the bastards' tale

And so, the living bastards of the faceless gods sing the bastards' tale

So many bastards, so many gods, so many tales

And yet, all it takes to watch them tremble in their knees and shiver in theirs spines, is an inch of a doubt born off a single moment of reason