"Just a rare psychological disorder"

Today we pray upon our knees,

Worshipping a confused man,

Not knowing of his own disease,

To make him think he had a plan,

And knowledge of how things are,

And why we’ve come this far,

In medicine and science,

To shun credible explanations:

For one man’s solemn degradation,

Oh! How the sensible grow dull,

Not so slow to mull

Over the true facts—

That this Jesus was an act

Of mental disillusion,

An uncanny intrusion

Of the future ways we live,

And people who still give,

So much worship and love,

To this unseen man above,

Who probably died confused

And not the least bemused,

That his own antics crazed the people,

Who later spear themselves through the present steeple,

Of ignorance and narrow minds,

Those respected, majestic kinds.

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