Searchable text after the jump:
PARDON ME FOR SINNING
My soul is in more peril than a fool like me can tell,
According to the upshot of the warnings that you yell,
For God is a perfectionist whom only blood can quell
And all my human decency just don’t amount to beans.
I see you every morning near the F train and the L,
Just railing at a table with the sermon tapes you sell.
I didn’t take your flier, but perhaps it’s just as well.
If Heaven’s full of folks like you, I’d rather go to Queens.