Explanation
Sometimes I can’t make out what is right
If he designed the garden, but banished
Are we not in hell after losing temptation’s fight?
And what, we are supposed to be judged
When we live in a world that can’t be harnessed?
When a conscience is mucked in sludge?
It all seems fucked, and in its entirety,
This standpoint of devout piety,
When religion comes in such a variety.
And we are supposed to believe
What religious documents leave?
No explanation says what’s truly worthy.
Perhaps Ippolit, sipping booze, was able to state
Why the slaughter of the fate
Was a just passage to that white gate.
But lose all tempting pleasure
And walk around in mindless leisure.
Rain, wind, gray skies, can all be shining weather.
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