Mad Cow at the Saints’ Parade

Mad Cow lies on his back

He also lies in the sack

He looks at the world in his flanks

Meaty, lumpy and rank

He sees his herd in his dreams

A mirror makes him beam

His nose will discover a plot

Before fall apples rot

He can read cow minds

The nectar on top of fine wines

He knows what’s held in your heart

The horse is before the cart

He speaks in tongues to the few

He’s Cyrus in the evangelical brew

Showing the Mad Cow Way

Blasphemy still can pay

When the Cow of the yard

The cow bell bard

Wraps his words in dung

When referring to the Son

Showing the Way of the Cross

Depends on who’s the boss

And who can twist and turn

A perfect biblical burn

Scripture up in smoke

The saints under the yoke

Cow’s out of body, now out of sorts

Crossing land, discovering ports

Passing through ether, speaking in tongues

Filling the tabernacle with air from his lungs

Finding a planet, a star he can own

Celestial music, proper in tone

Angels surround him, devils away

Exactly the time for a Mad Cow play

God’s in the barn yard and in the stall

Welcome to this meaty ball

This is my body, Cow says with glee

Surrender, give in and eat some of me.

(More political satire at madcowculture.com)