The Prophet

Sitting in the basement after hearing the news
Shaking fingers wrapped around a cigarette
The answer to the question was cancer

Sitting crying and smoking with my tony
I hear a knock on the door and I’m thinking
Now really, I don’t think I can handle much more

Into the house he comes
And down the stairs he marches
The prophet as I call him in all of his disheveled madness

Tony tries to tell him nicely this just isn’t the time
He ignores this and asks what in heaven’s name
Could be wrong

Tony tells as I cannot that my dad has been diagnosed with terminal cancer
And to this he responds
Its ok it’s all in god’s plans and god could not be wrong

I look at him as state: God…
Let me tell you about god Mr. Prophet
God does not exist…but if he does he is nothing more than a spoiled child

Playing with us his toys and when he is done
Discards them and moves on
All god has ever done for me is take

Why should I worship or believe in his idols that are fake?

Looking at me he starts to say “god…
I tell him you are not going to stand there
And tell me how to deal as far as I’m concerned there’s nothing left for god to steal…