Hymn #112: I Love Thy Empire, Bush, My Lord

I love Thy Empire, Bush, my Lord,
I love thy Garrison State,
Fortress America! by whose Sword
Vile Heathens fall prostrate.

I love Thy Pentagon of Pow'r.
When I before Thee stand,
Thou art my Rock, my Strength, my Tow'r,
Here, have Eight Trillion Grand.

If e’er to bless Thy hallowed Graft,
My voice or hands deny,
Or prophesy a Coming Draft,
Let me in Gitmo die.

Bush, shall a scoffer’s tongue incline
Thy Cabinet to abuse?
Say Condi's dumb, Gonzo's a swine?
That man his Job shall lose.

For Thee, O Bush, our Hearts beat high;
To Thee our Prayers ascend.
We'll never ask thee reasons Why,
Wherefore, or to what End?

If Torture be some Raghead's lot
We'll know that he did Evil;
If Jetplanes bomb some humble Cot,
'Tis well - it served the Devil.

Teach us to stand upon Thy Word,
Not Rule of Law, nor Reason,
Give Thee our all, give Sense the Bird,
And let all else be Treason.