Faraway on faint horizon
Flitter-flutter butterflies fair;
Every man sees as his prize
a lepidopter in his snare.
Moral: with God and with his proxies
Preaching heav’nly orthodoxies
with irate farmers’ empty pleas
and burkas ‘gainst indecencies
with brute force and with will of steel
with Eros naked as an eel.

God goes away with all the honours
while you, my dears, are naught but goners.
And in the end you get up there,
who’s plucked the profits of pious prayer?
A host of angels! oh glorious farce:
Redemption’s up your bloody…