Sermon

This drone-on of suggestions without end,

This fourteen minute solo repartee

Is yes my sermon in the key of me,

Youngish messiah in need of a friend.

You, mine own captive congregation

Tied up in a state of wrapped detention,

Hear clear my every last gasp and mention!

The text for the day, now where was I then?

Childhood, I suppose, preaching to flowers.

Three points I repeat with all my powers:

My struggles are many how very true,

If we all pull together we’ll get through,

The world’s a mess, total, but not all bad.

Contradict me and I’ll get mad.