What can we see in our crystal ball?
Here’s Old Jehovah huddled up close
To the dying embers of the Fire of Creation
Poking around in the Ashes of History
For some old scroll, a blueprint
He'd chucked in by mistake some eons ago
When it was not quite ready to fly.
And once cast into the Fire of Creation
Not even He in his almost omnipotence
Could unmake the World.
But He had soon regretted His mistake.
A freezing wind howls in across eternity
An icy shiver runs up and down his spine
He pulls his overcoat tighter around him
Shuffles a little closer to the fading fire
And reaches for some spirit to warm his heart.
His very last bottle.
"That it should come to this" he mutters.
"No hope, no light, no future".
Somewhere once he had had a son
Gone off to try to make humanity repent
Or some such foolish notion.
He had warned him, told him what would happen.
"You'll only get nailed up", he'd said
But that boy listened to no-one
Not even to the Devil.
Speaking of the Devil
He wonders what his sometime partner
And later arch-rival is up to now
Of course he had had to sell out to Satan many centuries ago
Couldn't afford to pay the bills for all that holy light
Paradise had stood empty far too long
The happy multitudes had failed to come
He hadn't made a prophet since Elijah.
So Lucifer had bought the whole lot cheap
And redeveloped it to make a theme park.
Old Nick had gone respectable lately,
Wore a pin-striped suit and tie
Had paid a certain price for his success:
Lost his fire and put on fat.
But Jesus, now where was that boy?
Ever since he'd resurrected
He was everywhere and nowhere
Leaving his old Dad to fend for himself
With only a pocketful of painful memories.
He's probably out riding with those mates of his,
That celestial motorcycle gang -
What did he call them "Heaven's Devils?"
Trying to turn that upside-down world
The wrong way up to make it come out right.
Bah! What a waste of time and talent!
Old Jehovah pokes around once more
Lingeringly among the ashes
Then turns and crawls into his cardboard box
To try to get some forty thousand winks
Forget the cold
Dream of ancient splendour.
Not much else left to do.
Tomorrow might be another day.
But, then again, God only knows, it might not.
Goodnight, God Bless.