Holding Hell Over Your Head

the preacher man has power
an invisible threat,
the best kind
money can buy,
a thing so powerful
it makes you quiver.

the magic of hellfire,
lightly
sprinkled at first,
a threat held by the flim-flam
men of god, of the faux jesus,
of their fake gods.

they can bring it out
at anytime, call you a sinner,
shake the fiery embers:
Repent! Repent!
just send me money, bow
low to your god or he will
smite you!

Fear Fear Fear Fear
bow low and send me money
Fear Fear Fear
Oh god, save this person,
let him believe this shit,
so I can control him for you
and he will send me money
and smile a strange
weird smile


and go from house to house
in a suit and he will
ride a bicycle for jesus
spreading shit and collecting money
and selling ties and
witnessing and feeling so holy
while closing his eyes except
to me, the preacher-man


filling his soul with useless
stuff so that he spends his days
being really really stupid
and sending me money for some
godawful, godhating,
suburban mega-church where
thousands will share stupidity and get
really glassy-eyed together
for a wished-for, no hell-fire, tragic
stupidity for eternity
through the faux jesus, amen.