The Ides of March

This week is bleak, the birds don’t sing No sun, no rains, but greyness Even the churchbells didn’t ring Have they become atheists The bellman and the bearded dean And all the congregation? In times like this to breathe is sin No promise of salvation Can take away the truth it fakes And like a stubborn stem Grows through the slab, the truth condemns The order of the damned So atheism’s a way to go Believe in politicians They must continue this old show Which you can call fictitious But wasn’t it meant to be as such? Just ask the God, if you Don’t think he is disturbed too much With millions in the queue That stretches out through centuries Dead people want to know What were their lives about, if this Was meant to be a show Beware the Ides of March, in case The warning comes in time If there is still a time to waste You doubt it? So do I.