If I were asked to make the call
On who or what created all,
I'd bow my head as if to think,
Then say: "I gotta get a drink."

Now, many say they know the ways
To piety and glory days.
Well hell, I'd say, I'm glad they're here
But things they say make nothing clear.

Well I won't buy another lie
Or metaphysic's aging try
To sell their fake old take on hell;
No thing they sing can ring my bell.

But I may stay a hopeless case
With daunting dawn of death to face.
I'll see no truth nor would I know,
Without my brain to tell me so?