Believe me or not

You’ve asked me from God ,
he is pretty old.
Instead of a prayer
he’s resting a lot,
cause pray to himself
is so hardly.
He’s playing a game,
believe me or not.

You’ve asked me from God,
he’s totally blind,
exchanging requests
for the candles.
Although I’m not woman
you needed to find,
you’ve asked me from God -
what a sadness.

You've asked me from God,
he’s anytime drunk,
his heaven is ruined
and feared,
he’s waking up late
after peccable fun
and even forgetting
wear beard.

Just don’t even dare
to ask me for real
one Sunday in rush
of remembers.
On Sunday God rests,
his heaven is hell
and flaring up slow
from embers.