On Belittled Faith

I traded in my guitar for a voice, my speakers for ears,
and my poster for a piece of timber.
But apparently you did not see the difference it hinders.
I found an old cloak to shroud my shirts, and banner to place on my door.
I smiled when I would shout, laughed when I would pout,
and hugged what I would abhor.

You say there is a man on a distant shore
Who has cast a spell on the island.
I hear he is a fine man with a long grey beard
And drinks a toast to old Ireland.

You say there sits a pontifical old coot
Who is sad, sorted, and dull.
I hear he likes cats, jokes, and good beer
And is merely doing a job most dreadful

You say there once was a man from the desert
Or was it olive fields? I cannot recall really
He was to be kind, gentle, and soft
And all the things we find easy.

I hear He died once, for something He said
It could not have been very pleasant
He was beaten, bruised, betrayed, and belittled
Both by priests, princes, and peasants.

You say I am a fool, of this we agree
I am dumb, dirty, and detestable, mind you.
That is precisely why I follow that Man,
His pontiff, His staff, and His crew.

For He is my King who loved me life
And just as well loved me in His last
He may have been nice, He may have been swell
But He is risen and the very stars He passed.