pelfdaddy wrote:'Neath the wide watchful eye of the star-spangled sky looking down on a wild windy hill
As the minions of Satan all quaked for their fate and the angels of heaven stood still
A lone obstetrician, an able physician, set forth in applying his skill
And he yanked out a boy (to his mother's great joy) who got stuck with the moniker 'Bill'

Like many a youth who is coarse and uncouth he concluded that life was uphill
And like many a lout who has sought a way out he encountered the usual drill
And with rapture to follow proceeded to swallow the slimy evangelist's pill
For the thing to suffice is a blood sacrifice, so concluded young gentleman Bill

Seems a doddering gent with a bloodletting bent put a knife in his little boy's grill
For the voice that once spake and said “Slice off your jake” now enjoined him a child to kill
But an angel came down and cried “Put the blade down”, and forbade him a trickle to spill
For the blood of the Lamb, the Christ, the I Am, washed the sins all away from our Bill

Then faced with the task of proposing this flask be imbibed 'til we all become ill
He became an apologist (a faith cosmetologist), volumes and volumes to fill
So setting the plate, even knowing the state of the evidence therefore is nil
He hove to with might in the long-standing fight and became the New Faith Hero Bill

He worked out a system to take words and twist'em to bend to his formidable will
To start with conclusions, employing illusions, then backwardly working until
He's painted God capable, strong, inescapable, credulous lis'ners to thrill
For the faithful astounded release their unbounded and awed admiration of Bill

In the winter of age he commands the grand stage from his place by the ice-crusted sill
Playing games with mere words for the grass-chewing herds as he stares at the frost and the chill
And he loves to define, and to pimp the Divine, his pulp publications to shill
He wrangles cosmologies, plays with tautologies, God's gotta love his man Bill

Fine-tuned in semantics and froth with pedantics whilst scratching away with the quill
He labors in threshing the grist to supply his epistemological mill
Enjoying high status (his labor's non-gratis) he keeps a sharp eye on the till
For the gospel is free, but a fat speaking fee fills the needs of our globe-trotting Bill

pelfdaddy wrote:Hack,

I would not be at all offended if it came out sounding like an Irish drinking song. But whatever, you know...