Because The Lady Is A Cult,
She Shot Me Like A Catapult
When I Explained I Could No Longer
Worship At Her Shrine. I Wrong Her
In A Way, Because She-‘s Modest
About The Fact That She-‘s Been Goddessed,
And Isn-‘t Proud, Though She-‘s Divine,
But I Can-‘t Worship At Her Shrine
Now I-‘m Her Persona Non Grata.
I-‘m Hoping, Madder Than A Hatter,
To Find Another Goddess Who
Will Let Me Worship Her. A Few
Have Told Me They-‘re Available,
And Readily E-Mailable,
And Once I-‘ve Chosen One, The Least
I Will Demand As Her High Priest
Of Entertainment That-‘s Adult
Is That She Lose Her Catapult.
Inspired By A Poem, -ŗshe Is A Cult, - By Michael Mccall:
Not Only Are You Burning In The Sun
But You Are Burning Alone
To Restore Yourself
Trying To Be Something That She Could Love
But You Don-‘t Have The Strength To Hold Out
You Are Having An Internal Battle
She Is Just Testing You
You Can Prove Yourself
That-‘s What You Keep Telling Yourself
As Soon As You Fail
She-‘ll Say You Were Almost There
She Doesn-‘t Want To Be Happy
Keep Staring Off In To The Distance
Keep Blaring Your Music
She Is A Cult