'Hossanna', he said

Hosanna, he said on the Sunday
Hands raised to the skies
And genuine tears in his eyes
I don’t kill, I don’t steal
I’m kind to the poor
I’m just the sort God’s looking for

Hosanna, he said on the Sunday
But on the Monday
He mutters and mumbles
Office walls rumble
As he groans and grumbles
And bickers and snides
His ‘woe-is-me’s
Delivered with ease
Born of practised expertise

Hosanna, he said on the Sunday
But on the Tuesday
He takes out his anger
On the lad in the car
Who was going too slow
His voice, now hoarse from violent use
Spews out insults and abuse
The same voice that called out Hosanna
Now shaming an absolute spanner

Hosanna, he said on the Sunday
But on the Wednesday
He whines with his friends in the pub
About his wife – his partner for life
Of whom, he’s actually rather fond
But she’s not here, so she can’t respond
Can’t defend
So he can pretend
He’s a long-suffering saint

Hosanna, he said on the Sunday
But on the Thursday
He throws a poor beggar a penny
Convincing himself that he’s charitable
But considers his life barely manageable
With the thousand he keeps for himself

Hosanna, he said on the Sunday
But on the Friday
He fights to say anything clear
Bleary eyed, trashed
Quite impressively smashed
Drunk beyond reason
Or reasonable behaviour
Deaf to the words of the saviour

Hosanna, he said on the Sunday
But on the Saturday
Sits at the window and watches
The women walking by
The very same eyes
That so faithfully cried
Examine them fully
From neckline to thighs

Hosanna, he says on the Sunday
Hands raised to the skies
And genuine tears in his eyes
Today is the day that he walks the walk
Today is the day he’s happy to talk
To the God he hardly knows

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