In stunning shows of outward piety,
How we excel! There ain’t no competition!
The angels who are watching us agree
That we fulfill some sort of holy mission.
Imperfect at its heart is our contrition
As every man of us plays daily saint—
But apprehension’s simply superstition.
God isn’t seeing through us. No, he ain’t!
Our grinning souls are coated with a paint
Proof against God’s transcendent x-ray vision.
If he suspects there’s cause for a complaint,
He’ll find no facts to merit a decision
Against us. Prosecutor: overruled!
We have the judge of earthly judges fooled.