Many Ganymede will gladly play
For Stupid God an hour, or a day,
Or weeks, or years, and some, no doubt, will say
That they, by doing so, have grown more great
Than any who against them would debate,
And that they've done so by exploiting fate,
Accepting what, for them, is proper place,
As show by their skin color, shape of face,
And what they pack in pants. It's a disgrace
That any would so think, and yet, they do
Despite words spoken 'til faces are blue;
No light of reason seem e'er to break through
The damned fool walls they've built of their minds' stone,
Yet their peril can't be left alone.
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