It’s a national day of prayer,
declared by King Fuckwad.
But the virus doesn’t care.
It can’t be killed by god.
While we’re on our knees,
praying to a vapor,
and trying not to sneeze,
we still need toilet paper.
And as we ask for spirit help
to keep us from the dead,
we’d be better off on Yelp,
looking to buy bread.
Pray to Yahwe. Pray to Christ.
Beg the Lord of Karma.
Pray a vaccine is low-priced
by the gods of pharma.
Pray for rapture. Pray for rain.
Keep your social distance.
Pray that you don’t die in pain.
At the king’s insistence.
All your praying may distract
from just who is at fault,
King Fuckwad, who was slow to act,
sealed in his germ-free vault.
Pray, pray, he’ll say, from your t.v.,
the lord will surely listen.
But in our sick reality,
it’s certain god is missin’.
