The Smell of America’s God
“God Bless America”
by Harold Pinter, January 2003
Here they go again,
The Yanks in their armoured parade
Chanting their ballads of joy
As they gallop across the big world
Praising America’s God.
The gutters are clogged with the dead
The ones who couldn’t join in
The others refusing to sing
The ones who are losing their voice
The ones who’ve forgotten the tune.
The riders have whips which cut.
Your head rolls onto the sand
Your head is a pool in the dirt
Your head is a stain in the dust
Your eyes have gone out and your nose
Sniffs only the pong of the dead
And all the dead air is alive
With the smell of America’s God.
And the subtle, unseen tinkering behind the scenes continues on by the men who want to turn this country into Jesusistan, a place Osama would feel right at home in.
I have come to fear religion more than any other human practice. It seems to be in many cases a virus that infects a society and then kills it.