Madonna and Child

By Elton Wildermuth, 1982

I went down to Belfast on Saturday
to lay my poor buchaill to bed
with a blanket of heather to comfort him
and a pillow of stones for his head.

Now it's ashes to ashes and dust into dust,
telling tales of our Father, in whom we should trust,
that Lord of Creation, almighty and just --
Oh Lord, my God, where are You now?

Well, You must have been visiting Castlereagh,
or at tea with the Bishop instead,
but You sent some disciples to our town
to make sure we believed what You said.

It's a grand old tradition: all you have to do
to prove God is your ally and your cause is true
is to murder an innocent baby or two
and then leave without taking your bow.

Oh, who could believe in a miracle?
Your sacred heart, bright bloody red
was no sure salvation for anyone,
just an object of unholy dread.

Dear Mother of Heaven, so meek and so mild,
it is bad news I bring you concerning your child,
who has grown into something you would have reviled --
Oh Lord, my God, where are You now?

When Richard made war on the Saracens
it was not only Arabs that bled,
and when Patrick drove snakes out of Ireland
it was more than just serpents that fled.

Now, begging your pardon, I'm sorely afraid
that the price was too steep for the gains that we made.
You are asking for penance we've seven times paid;
Oh Lord, my God, where are you now?

So be damned to the serpent and all of his kin,
and the same to the good men that followed them in;
there's the same breed of snake hiding under the skin,
and as low as the chance will allow.

I have seen all of your house that I want to see,
so if any of yours should come asking for me
you can tell them I've gone off to dance with the Sidhe,
for there's no other gods for me now.