For my mate Mike, God is called Christ
It gives him headspace among the highrises
Lends order to the muddle of his mind,
Sorts his troubles into sins
Helps him struggle through a crises.

For Tom-Tom, God is Dionysis
… he prays by dropping little white hits
And waits for the hurricane of light
Blowing rugged in his eyes
Leaving puddles in his irises.

For Polly, God is called Isis:
She steals kisses from the night’s lips.
Her heart’s large enough to hold the moon
She’s the chorus of a soul tune
Says a little prayer like this:

Deep in the belly, you’ve got to watch what you worship
Chasing pennies is a very weird way to find a purpose
Get yourself a good god and get yourself free
What you call it makes no bones to me.

No bones and no idols, I circle with the cycles
Instrumentals are my temples and the mind is my Bible
I keep it wide open, let my verse flow free
Psalms spoken as an urgent poetry.
Words are muscles, and they break commandments
Casting them aside
To let the spark of life set the dark alight
Far and wide over land and sea,
My magic speaks with the thousand mouths of the banyan tree
With all the twisted tongues that nature gives it
Without the grandiose pantyhose of the mystic
Who sacrifices sense at an altar shrine-
“the body’s sinful and the soul’s divine”
Well, I’ve had a skinful of an older wine
I came free, now I’m going forth and multiplying
The same beast that was present at the origin of people.
I’d rather one tree than a forest of cathedrals…

Deep in the belly, you’ve got to watch what you worship
Chasing pennies is a very weird way to find a purpose
Get yourself a good god and get yourself free
What you call it makes no bones to me.