Tiki, Tiki on the wall,
tell me who's dearest of them all.
And as I sit and ponder gods
not of my own religion,
whose gods really reign
loved, unloved or unforgiven?
White and stubborn, unloving,
or mellow yellow, and magical,
or black, dark and mysterious,
or are all gods just the same?
I tend to hedge my bets,
believing in all of them,
so that, sinner I,
can have at least one path
to redemption.
For why should I place all bets,
with one who's monolith,
more than one god would ensure,
at least some forgivess.
But Tiki God of Old,
I pray to thee, with proper tithe:
shot of tequila, glass of beer,
and wonder what I'm doing here.
No love lost or gained
but many faces I could name.
So I will drink up
and wait for the other cup,
one whch will hold me up,
and as I laugh, so will I cry.
The day that goes by,
and for a while I feel loved.
Which makes Tiki worship better,
than what I think I could be,
but I'm not going to place
myself in the One Holy.
So a different shot I consume,
to some other god.
And when I leave the bar,
I muse, such lovely clouds,
whoever you are.