What profit is there to this toxic vision of the universe,
The vengeful God, the tortured Son, a lifetime spent
In terror of the slightest missteps made? You dare not
Get up from your knees or savor life's exquisite pleasures,
Lest you die and Heaven's bus draws into view, but passes

You. Those on it, certain of salvation, jeer. It's like you've

Been made Jesus.  Unlike Him, however, your bus bears

You down to Hell.