Apparently you really are in charge,
God of the small-minded, deity of sour grapes.
Anyone who worships you must pledge
Loyalty to narcissistic self-interest,
Hatred of other races, bigotry
Against difference, however defined,
A willingness to condemn one’s neighbors
For anything that rubs against your will.
Your pedigree was formed in the Bronze Age
And in more than four thousand tortured years
You’ve not grown one bit wiser or kinder.
You were vicious before you became
The go-to deity for money love
Over any other value. Let’s say
Mercy, truth, justice, love, compassion
Never lit a flame before your shrine.
Yet year after year you’ve found worshippers
Who would offer you all their hate and greed
In return for the power to destroy
Anyone who thought they had a better way.
You spend your time counting trifling sins
While the blood of innocents floods the world.
You’re petty and mean like those who worship you.
You blaspheme the true God. You reek of hell.