Man created the New World
So that God wouldn’t have to be troubled,
And His judgement
Could be pushed aside,
And as pilgrims and pagans
Descended upon it
They dispensed
With its indigenous nations,
Whose own spirits,
Warmer at night
Than the imported
Bottled varieties,
Were swiftly
Defeated
By the heathens
Who wielded their version
Keener,
But God
Has had his fill
Of shrilling harpies
And willing evangelicals
Since being conjured
From the fastness of his castle,
Where he’d lounged for so long
Since creation
Had depleted his resolve,
And after seeing puritans
Scouring these lands of man
He pulled the corner of his cover
Ever tighter over
His eyes
And decided
That the best thing to do
Would be to leave them to it.
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