Hyperion Cartel
Melbourne, Australia
Sunday, September 24, 2006

Bioinformatics 101

Our Father who Art in Heaven
Hello? What’s your name?
Since you and Mother Earth divorced
Home-life’s never been the same.
Dear father who hangs art in Heaven
Dada is your new replacement
I unintentionally smashed your glass ceiling
Radium therapy inflicted such debasement.
A Kind Man installed a fluorescent sphere
And it outshone your Kingdom’s Sun
The energy bills are much lower, and now I see
Your brand of sunlight cost me a Megaton.
I’ll pass up your offer of Daily Bread
Anaphylaxis rapidly descends upon yeast
Bloated Buns bubble in your microwave
Club sandwiches make for a stale feast.
My cooking always ends up burned
I don’t want a sun or daughter
All I need to live is lots of sweet, sweet dough
And some unpolluted drinking water.
Why do you forgive he who trespasses
Over my bunker’s barbed wire fence?
Why wasn’t he irradiated or decimated?
By ten thousand lines of civil defence?
My real estate was not a public playground
To become your new Ground Zero
But I’ve been over-irrigated to barren wasteland
Violated by some pre-Apocalyptic ‘hero’.
So you think I’ve been led into temptation?
Do I need poisoning or weeding out?
Would you say that my sanity or my lifestyle
Should be viewed with a healthy doubt?
But if seduction extends a withered hand
My gut-reaction spits back black rage
No point reciting pallid bible verses
Behind thick red curtains of Life’s Stage.
Evil junk mail is delivered to my everyday
So I don’t subscribe to the original ‘Seven Sins’
Happiness can never be pre-scripted
When life’s a game of Who Dares Wins.
The game of survival has burned me out
The game of life has left me long dead
I can’t be at peace with this Artificial Sun
That burns sadistically over my bed.
I never ever wanted to be bad
But in this day and age what’s ‘good’?
In a world where evil parades in white coats?
And discards the traditional black hoods?
So, dear Father who Art in Heaven
Where shall we be reunited?
Daddy, if (and when) we meet again
Will your love for me be reignited?
I may have rejected opera, art and motherhood
And I know my music tortures the neighbours
But I always tried my best to deliver the truth
And truth hurts me like a 24-hour labour.
I’m not religious, but, Jesus how I pray for peace
This sick pup’s suffered Sins One to Seven
Even Nihilist’s want to go where all Good Dogs go
Oh god, please, I just want to go to Heaven.
Hyperion Cartel

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1/22/2021 8:29:38 AM #