I know your last words are written down but Christ, we need to talk
This original sin thing of yours is as a concept rather weighty
My life may be a Sunday stroll next to your Golgotha walk
Though I lost faith at 25 but won’t be buried ’til I’m 80

Your party prowess lives on to date however, good for you
My friends who’ve drunk your vintage won’t stop raving
So tell me if the age old stories that they preach are true
Are you indeed the saviour of souls that mine’s been craving?

You’ve got quite a trio going on still haven’t you
Surely not at all related to power tools or historic distortions
With father figures, good spirits and then of course yourself
Can’t help but think that it’s a bedtime story of biblical proportions

So if you’ve got perspective man then give me some of that
I mostly use your name for cursing in this world you’ve put to shame
Can’t blame me though, my head is mostly just a fancy hat
Here people ask me for my job title before they ask my name

Jesus, it seems like almost all the things I heard were true
Judgement and lack of answers is just the stuff you left behind
The Lord knows you don’t talk much but then what is it that you do
Sex, drugs & rock’n roll or repenting sins of all mankind?

I got at it all myself but as for your passion I’ve got none
If you already know the answer then you owe me an apology
I’d like to think I’ve got a few choices left to make before I’m gone
But maybe time is just a construct to give the illusion of chronology

Like Longinus I’m pulling out, of our coitus interruptus
You’re just a tease man, fuck off and go to hell
for what it’s worth I’ll be there to greet you as my Brutus
I always used to think that a vacation would’ve served me well