Colin F. Jones
I went to church to see my daughter wed
For she believes the church must give its word.
She does not know that every word he said
Was not from God but from a man absurd.
He cared not for her worry, this foul priest
But threatened to refuse to marry her
Unless she paid him money he’d increased
The day before the wedding would occur.
It cost five hundred dollars for this right,
Payable before the wedding day began
Supplied in little envelopes sealed tight
To this disgusting, greedy, little man
Who wears the robes that falsely claim his place
In the house of God that he doth yet debase
Some must pay the preacher for a place
In heavens grave; reserve a little plot
For they must buy God’s audience after grace
Lest they be by the church’s clergy shot.
The bible has become their audit book
That serves to rob God’s people of their wage
Who humbly think they have no right to look
To find where hides the missing money page.
What was their purpose when a soldier died,
To mumble Latin words for good effect?
Who are these men who claim and then decide
That we, through teaching, fear to reject?
What they say are not God’s words at all
But words they say lest they themselves do fall
©Copyright May 17, 2001 by Colin F. Jones