It’s easy to feel a little woke,
just after you’ve taken a toke.
To feel as if God spoke,
as if you’re the only one in on the joke,
as if you hold a beautiful truth, a fire to stoke.
Thus beseeched, you spread the message under religion’s cloak.
‘This is what you should do before you croak.’
‘This is how you should treat the downtrodden and the broke.’
‘And this is how a lady should treat her bloke.’
Some listen,
some provoke,
word spreads,
the masses convoke.
Pledging their swords,
falling under your yoke.
Pledging their houses,
their bills, and their bespoke.
Then, comes the final solution,
you begin your masterstroke.
You enlist the will of the people,
with His words you doth evoke.
You tell them your divine vision,
you tell them how you awoke,
you tell them of their enemies,
their neighbours who provoke.
Now they’re almost ready,
another push and they won’t revoke.
‘Gather the Kinsfolk
and force them to work.
In the fields and the factories,
in the forests cutting grand oak.
Make them build our weapons,
great waves of fire that will soak.
Then we’ll make our pilgrimage,
to leave nothing but smoke.
Do not hesitate to obey me.
do you think I misspoke?
Do not hesitate to obey me,
do you think my visions mere sunstroke?
Do not hesitate to obey me,
or you too will choke.’
Yes,
it is easy to feel as if God spoke.
