All those false calls didn’t achieve a thing,
And won’t achieve in future either.
You played too many games with my life,
Hope you enjoyed them; I didn’t, of course.
Why not try new numbers now
that the old ones are blocked?
The game’s not really up, I know,
You love to play, you’re a gamester,
Your commentators will write
The chronicles of my life, I know.
You wield the ultimate power,
Because you are a man of religion.
So false calls will keep coming from you.
But why not change that style,
your stale style,
a style that I started seeing a decade and a half back?
Can your religion not be inventive?
One of your chroniclers changed his style today.
He extended his quotidian appreciation.
But the crookedness was as visible as ever.
So much falsehood you dish out
Day in and day out
Hoping to make me bend
I’d rather break than bend.