Jesus said to him, “Truly, I tell you, this very night, before the rooster crows, you will deny me three times.”
Get ready to be a bastard
Your shops will be lacking stocks
When the last of the slices of bread
With no butter or jelly jam as spread
Is exposed at the crux of undressed tables
You will have to choose
Between shoving and serving it to your mother
Even with the very tips of your fingers
Or being content with the laws of holy nature
Which reassure and comfort you
That parents normally die before their children
Get ready to be a scoundrel
Your money will soon be worth toilet paper
Only less comfortable to your ass
When the last bankrupt of your banknotes
Is hiding underneath your pillow
You will have to choose
Between avoiding spooking and looting your brother
Even with your son’s toy gun
Or being content with your view of god’s laws
Which reassure and comfort you
That others should give a shirt if they have two or one
Get ready to be a thief of virtue
Your pool of swarming girls is draining dry
And you’ll be wanting your weekend sex wife
Or midweek or whatever you were able to and fit
If your trenches’ friends are fit companions for fates
You seek the breath of death in silk and cleavages
When the last of the girls begs you and pleads you
To let go of her skin and of her skirt
You will have to choose
Between thrusting your dagger into a warrior’s meat
To not brag on shags in shackles, fanny bully, as a feat
Or being content with the laws of complacent wisdom
Which reassure and comfort you
That sometimes you just ruin the one you want to like
Get ready to be a coward
You will be awoken by men with perverted symbols
They will be here with pliers and needles and thongs
Promising to squeeze your balls into a mayonnaise
And to nail your eyes into the life of a voodoo doll
You will have to choose
Between refraining from wailing out the whereabouts
Of your maroon and maverick kaboom kiddie
Or being content with laws invented and forged
Which reassure and comfort you
That you can save your blood by sparing your flesh
Do not be offended by what I am saying
This is nothing like a reproof
More of a worn out warning
From the worries of the warfare
There is no use and no excuse
Trying to be prouder than St Peter
For, in truth I tell you, that very night
Before the hells and the bells
Begin the rolling and the tolling
Of strife and strikes, with a knife or the spikes,
You will deny your faith
And all that you believed you believed in
More times than you have teeth and toes left
mother, brother, partner, youngster
forsaken, forsaken, forsaken, forsaken
You will pray that you could want to try to cry
And be sorry to still have eyes in their sockets
You will want to slide in sleep that never wakes
But you will have missed your last chance to die
The good news is I have been there - and here
I have mustered all the atrocities for the monster
That forgotten faith or fuelled up faith can foster
Filling with unsuspectedly nurtured ferocity
my heart, my head, my hands, my humanity
It took a tad while for the devil to get used to me
But eventually he realised it’s not such a big deal
To hang around, in times of peace, with a bastard.