Hail Mary, Mother of God
Standing on your golden dais
Smoothing down your painted robes
Smiling your empty smile . . .

Hail St. Thomas, Martyr of Heaven
Tightly clutching your severed head
Red paint spilling down your alabaster hands
Holding onto blind, ecstatic, religious fame . . .

Hail the electric prophet
Holding your sparkling holiness, your "Word of God"
Bless me, electric prophet
Bless me with your neon signs
Your brimstone sermons
Your false reassurance
Your song and dance and show
Of "truth" . . . .

You hide Jesus from my eyes
You hide him with your glittering lies.