printAl Father, who art in transit
Phony be thy game
Thy Lear-Jet hums
Those lies you’ve spun
About Earth, and your huge mansion
Give us a break, your daily dread
And forgive us with bus passes
As we curse those flying first-class above us
And lead us not into stagflation
But humor us more, Sir Carbon-Knievel
Amen!
Hilarious!
True too!
It’s impossible to improve on that prayer [you just did] but let me just offer this stanza:
And just like that prodigal son
You’ll soon be back for another run
Is there no escape
From your ubiquitous prate