God and Jesus are at a bar,
flirtin’ with the best of ‘em.
Course, Jesus’ got that younger appeal,
‘n God’s gettin’ a little jealous,
as masturbatory as it is for them Catholics to think it.
So God up ‘n smacked Jesus clear to next tuesday,
‘n ain’t it just like the kid,
he lit up and called it cool.
(Oh, the numbers he got for that one.)
‘n God it’s hard sometimes.
Body can’t rightly make its mind–
get tired of the zero to interstellar sex drive,
get tired of the doubt that keeps me from date-night.
Get tired.
But then ‘n again,
you get them perfect hiking days,
when the wind picks up that grass ‘n dirt smell
‘n tosses it right through dapple sunlight,
‘n dribbles it right ‘cross your lap.
Like some lovin’ old dog, drooling at the joy of a–
‘n when he was done walkin’ back, Jesus said to God
your left hook as good as your right?
There are caves in these hills, sure,
but they ain’t got nothing to the greens ‘n sly-sky blues.
Don’t hold a candle to sittin’ on this log
‘n watchin’ the clouds roll by.
‘n God it’s hard sometimes.
But fuck if it ain’t beautiful.
Fuck if you ain’t too.
