The Africans had dark-skinned gods,
The Vikings’ gods were blond,
The Greeks believed that if horses wrote
A horse would be their god.
We laugh at images they built
But go and do the same—
Our god may not appear like us,
But we still play our games—
We have a custom of twisting God
To use Him for our schemes,
By remaking Him to think like us
So He fits inside our dreams.
The God who has revealed Himself
Has said things quite absurd,
So we build ourselves an Oracle,
To give Him our own words.
We take the messages we like
And amplify a hint
That happens to match the plans we have
However small the link;
The words with which we disagree
Are dragged away and burned;
We would not want the crowds to find
What they should never learn!
Infinity is far too large
To hold inside our brains;
’Tis easier to edit it
To fit within our chains.
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