Dear Heavenly Farther, catamaran
My unbelief and gouge your grace.
I get the Holy Gist, but this,
Your son, who butlered as a man?
The spotless limb and bling of blings?
Suppose you sent an angle down
That I could measure him? But then,
If there’s a microphone I sing
A scoutless, karaoke droll.
Because you’ve locked your warship
Inside my oystered heart, I’m sure
You couldn’t love me anymore.
I can’t earn favor from my lips,
O Lord. All love for you is feudal.
