Business of the Gods

 Oh tragicomedy of a business

When at the foot, the soldiers march

Pulling the great bull

for the offering

Pulling the fatted calf

Up the ramp of the pyramid

To feed the Great God Ram

And after all that work and sweat

You realize you have little recompense

For such labours or tolls

The man in the sky ain't counting that high

And the sheep in the deep vally fold

Go running and bleating

Because it's all self-defeating

To try and kill off your soul

With work so demanding

That the bodies your handing

Over are your own at the end of the role

I could have killed

And Yet I control

Such urges as the splurges

Of profit and loss

To not giving a toss about

What the Rich men stole

As they live on the yachts

Or court tennis or squash

In their white plimsoles

But keep me from going under

The thunder of Thor God of War

Keep my head on the stave

Of no buy but save

For it's the inalienable right of Mars

To blink like a beacon in the stars