I'm God, - and I'm he

    With a capital G

    (All the lower-case chaps have disbanded);

    And if nobody knows

    How at first I arose-

    Well neither do I to be candid.


    But it seems (though it's queer)

    That I've always been here.

    As for kinsfolk I fear I have none;

    No father or mother,

    No sister or brother, -

    Just me and a ghost and his son.


    And I didn't apply

     

     

     

 

For this job in the sky

 

 

 

 

 

Of producing the earth from the air;

    But, surrounded by Night,

    I requested a light

    And the whole thing just snowballed from there.


    I thought it divine

    That concoction of mine

    As I spun it around to inspect it;

    But (the workings of Fate!)

    I discovered too late

    There was no one but me to direct it.


    But the greatest mistake

    I could possibly make

    Was to put man and wife on the planet;

    It was soon overflowing

    From what they called 'knowing'

    And I rued that I ever began it.


    Oh, the millions down there

    At their praising and prayer

    Who implore me to bow down an ear

    And attend to their craving,

    Confessing and raving,

    - It's hell, I can tell you, up here!


    The endless confessions

    Of trivial transgressions -

    I've heard them so often before;

    To be fair, the Cistercians

    Have novel diversions

    But the rest are a terrible bore.


    Petitions are worse

    (In fact they're a curse)

    As they tend to conflict and confuse me;

    So sometimes I'll say:

    "To the devil and pray!"

    (I shouldn't, of course - do excuse me).


    Some pray for a war

    (They imagine I'm Thor)

    And others that peace shall obtain;

    While for every one

    Who solicits for sun

    There's another who wants it to rain.


    And as for the praises -

    I hate all those phrases

    Like Father Divine and Almighty;

    And my critical taste

    Hasn't ever embraced

    The Te Deum (still less the Venite).


    As a duty it's drear

    So I turn a deaf ear

    To confessions, petitions and praise;

    But then nobody knows

    (All they say is it shows

    That I move in mysterious ways).


    I'd relinquish my post

    And retire with the ghost

    If his son would accept it instead;

    But he's long had his eye on

    Returning to Zion

    And judging the quick and the dead.


    So it's all in the air

    Till he's finished down there,

    And I say when I'm low now and then:

    "I'll be here with the ghost

    And the heavenly host