He's not the messiah, he's a heavenly body
July 24th 2008 05:28
Religion is the personification of Nature, believe leading trippers.
"The Sun, that great child of the sky, is none other than the Son of God," claims one, high on the acuity of his vision.
The Twelve Disciples, none other than the twelve moons that go around a year, have refused to be drawn on the claims.
No body can hold a torch to the moons, except the blazing star of our belief system.
The twelve months without the Sun would be in rather desparate need of saving, that's for sure.
"We wouldn't piss on Jesus if he was on fire," said Judas, possibly referring to an eclipse.
That would be sacrilege.
He's already on fire.
The heavens' brightest star, from where we are.
It's human nature to personalise that which isn't in affront to understanding.
Particularly that which is so essential to our daily lives.
And nothing is more daily than the fiery baptist above our heads.
We are what we are but how we are who we are remains in the shade, I said basking in the warmth of the winterless Sun.
The untilled Earth, a veritable Virgin, delivered one day, not unlike today, the energetic child.
What with the thunderbolts and the clouds and the heavens, the Sky is God and the rest is salience.
We can only hope to end up a twinkle in the heavens, I said tinkling the ovaries.
The Sky sent the Sun so that we could live; we should be thankful.
God, Foxy Loxy, is falling, say trippers on their own feats.
It's getting hot in here, so take off all your loathes.
When the Sun does return to us we will all be in hell.
It won't be the end of the world.
It's only a revelation.
"The Sun, that great child of the sky, is none other than the Son of God," claims one, high on the acuity of his vision.
The Twelve Disciples, none other than the twelve moons that go around a year, have refused to be drawn on the claims.
No body can hold a torch to the moons, except the blazing star of our belief system.
The twelve months without the Sun would be in rather desparate need of saving, that's for sure.
"We wouldn't piss on Jesus if he was on fire," said Judas, possibly referring to an eclipse.
That would be sacrilege.
He's already on fire.
The heavens' brightest star, from where we are.
It's human nature to personalise that which isn't in affront to understanding.
Particularly that which is so essential to our daily lives.
And nothing is more daily than the fiery baptist above our heads.
We are what we are but how we are who we are remains in the shade, I said basking in the warmth of the winterless Sun.
The untilled Earth, a veritable Virgin, delivered one day, not unlike today, the energetic child.
What with the thunderbolts and the clouds and the heavens, the Sky is God and the rest is salience.
We can only hope to end up a twinkle in the heavens, I said tinkling the ovaries.
The Sky sent the Sun so that we could live; we should be thankful.
God, Foxy Loxy, is falling, say trippers on their own feats.
It's getting hot in here, so take off all your loathes.
When the Sun does return to us we will all be in hell.
It won't be the end of the world.
It's only a revelation.
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