The Infidel


There you go, once again, rushing off to make a blunder,

Only if you knew, anything at all.

No, you’d rather steer close to religion,

That’ll do you well, you mindless Neanderthal.

And yet it is I who feels this fluster,

Though it is they who haven’t a wonder,

Of truth and this and that and this,

A Holy Book remains amiss,

Not I, the wicked sinner,

I’ve got my own judge to contemplate,

He’d call me a winner.

So do not be so kind now,

I see the trick of your trade,

Keep your God-forsaken charity,

I won’t be caught in your charade,

Just yesterday you spent away

the commerce you had earned,

On all the vanities and vices

you swore would have me burned!

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