'Twas the night before Christmas in the old religious house,
Not a synapse was stirring, more brains in a mouse.
No teachings of science, no paying of tax,
They promote their own ignorance to shield them from facts.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of false gods implant in their heads.
Then mamma and her bible and I with my gun,
Set out to find heathens to have some good fun.
When out in the street there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my crouch to silence the matter.
Through the window I heard the heretic speak,
Of a world without God but a future not bleak.
He spoke without reverance and a complete lack of fear,
As he attacked each and all things I've always held dear.
Away from the window I flew like a flash,
Unsheathing my blade, I started to slash.
But the little old humanist was lively and quick.
I knew at that moment it must be a trick.
Why doesn't my god in his own righteous desire,
Strike down this old heathen with a huge ball of fire.
But it's not up to me to question my Lord,
Even though his dumb teachings leave me tired and bored.
After all it is useless to ignore what is taught.
In this life who needs to use critical thought?
But I pause for a moment to consider the truth.
Should my god exist without any proof?
Does the belief in old fables written ages ago,
Have all the answers to all I should know?
Perhaps religion is a colossal mistake,
Or a tool uses by tyrants to take and to take.
An excuse for my laziness and my own feeble mind,
So that I can act without conscience and walk like I'm blind.
Maybe it's time to give God a rest,
And to use my own brain to decide what is best.
Now I can claim to have truly seen the light,
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.
Not a synapse was stirring, more brains in a mouse.
No teachings of science, no paying of tax,
They promote their own ignorance to shield them from facts.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of false gods implant in their heads.
Then mamma and her bible and I with my gun,
Set out to find heathens to have some good fun.
When out in the street there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my crouch to silence the matter.
Through the window I heard the heretic speak,
Of a world without God but a future not bleak.
He spoke without reverance and a complete lack of fear,
As he attacked each and all things I've always held dear.
Away from the window I flew like a flash,
Unsheathing my blade, I started to slash.
But the little old humanist was lively and quick.
I knew at that moment it must be a trick.
Why doesn't my god in his own righteous desire,
Strike down this old heathen with a huge ball of fire.
But it's not up to me to question my Lord,
Even though his dumb teachings leave me tired and bored.
After all it is useless to ignore what is taught.
In this life who needs to use critical thought?
But I pause for a moment to consider the truth.
Should my god exist without any proof?
Does the belief in old fables written ages ago,
Have all the answers to all I should know?
Perhaps religion is a colossal mistake,
Or a tool uses by tyrants to take and to take.
An excuse for my laziness and my own feeble mind,
So that I can act without conscience and walk like I'm blind.
Maybe it's time to give God a rest,
And to use my own brain to decide what is best.
Now I can claim to have truly seen the light,
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.
